Season 2 Episodes 7 - 8 from my perspective: short story collection 6
by Sweepeaspatch
Summary: Still at it and getting closer.
1. Chapter 1

**Story List**

1\. S2 E7 – Just Another Working Couple

2\. S2 E7 - Come Stay At Mine (2 parts)

3\. S2 E7 - It's Just Drinks

4\. S2 E7 - Soft Pleadings In The Night #2 (3 parts)

5\. S2 E7 - The Bet (2 parts)

6\. S2 E7 - Just Looking at Him (2 parts)

7\. S2 E8 - Higher Education

8\. S2 E8 - WHAT Was He Thinking? (2 parts)

9\. S2 E8 - Sharing (2 parts)

10\. S2 E8 - The Offer

11\. S2 E8 - La Manche (4 parts)

12\. S2 E8 - One of These Days...

13\. S2 E8 - Character Growth

14\. S2 E8 - The Goodbye

15\. S2 E8 - You Won't Come Back, Will You?

16\. S2 E8 - Harry Dances (3 parts)

17\. S2 E8 - After the Rant (3 parts)

**S2 E7 – Just Another Working Couple**

"We are dealing with a sharp and devious mind, Camille!" he proclaims confidently over his shoulder.

She smiles as she writes, "Oh, kind of like you, is it?"

He smiles with pleasure, "Well, yes, if you like… but I'm sure we're up against someone clever."

Camille looks to Fidel and scoffs, "Oh, yeah, just what this island needs… another Richard Poole."

Fidel chuffs a laugh and keeps working but also a sharp eye on his boss. Just watching the man is an education unto itself. Fidel can almost hear the man's mind working, can see his responses to the crime scene and when new thoughts occur to him_. If I could only bottle that mind of his! I could pass my exams in my sleep! To heck with studying the book - I just need to study the Chief._

"You're awful confident, aren't you?" Camille calls to the suit's back.

The Chief swings around to face her once more across the debris strewn lawn, nods, "I didn't go through hell with the Anderson case just to be unsure of myself once more." He cocks an eyebrow and says cheekily, "I was right all along with that case, may I remind you. I just had the wrong end of the stick."

She scoffs, "Stick!"

"Yes, stick! The same stick that I will rap you with if you don't stop tweaking me!"

She stops writing, shoots a hot glance suit-ward, "But that's my job… tweaking…"

Fidel sees the Chief colour slightly and drops his gaze, concentrating on his work bagging up evidence. A working couple has to find their private moments where they can and he doesn't want to intrude on whatever moments they manage to snatch together. When he hears the Chief snort, he knows the moment is over and looks back up. Yep, the man is back to studying the crime scene and Camille is back to writing on evidence bags. Fidel sighs. He hopes these moments are enough for them. He hates to think they are denying themselves.

Twenty-four hours later, on the Chief's veranda, Fidel is staring down at the grubbiest, oldest, most disreputable pencil stub he had ever seen… and he takes it with hushed reverence. _The Chief's own pencil! His exam pencil! Oh, this is the last bit of armour I need to go into the fray! _ Fidel lifts shining eyes to his mentor and all he can think to do is nod hard and march away, the pencil clutched in his hand like a weapon. He hears Dwayne's scoff behind him but it doesn't take away the honour of taking the Chief's pencil into battle.

"A pencil?" says Dwayne, giving his Chief a snotty look that he would never have dared a year ago. Sharp eyes snap to him and Dwayne gulps a bit, _He can shave skin off when he wants to! Yes aye!_

The Chief pauses for effect then says, "Yes, a pencil! Just be glad I don't give you 'the boot'! Off with you! See that he gets to the exam in good time and don't take him to La Kaz afterwards. He needs to get back to his family." He looks to Camille, "We can all use a little down-time. We've earned it."

Dwayne nods and goes, happy to escape with his head on the right way around. _Down-time_, he thinks, _I know what I'm gonna do with mine. I wonder what the Chief is gonna do with his? A book, most likely._

As they watch Dwayne leave, Richard turns to Camille and mutters, "I really wish you wouldn't do that bossy little snap-click in front of the other officers. It's unseemly. I'm not a pet!"

"Oh, you like it only when we're alone, do you? Like now?"

He steps back, gives her a side-ways look, his voice rising in a warning tone, "Ca-mille, don't you start! It's been a very trying day… and NOW we have to worry about Fidel."

She is turning herself subtly from side to side, presenting her profile – both her glorious profiles, "I know ONE thing that will help you relax."

He takes another step back, holds up a warding hand, tries to say firmly, "NO! Absolutely not! It's too hot! It's too early. It's not even 3 pm yet!" His voice loses vehemence as she sidles closer, "It's too…"

She holds her right hand up in front of his worried eyes and gives him an evil smile, "It's too good a chance to pass up," and she snap-clicks right in his face then looks down and drawls, "Works like a charm. Every time!"

He is being backed up towards the door and stamps a leather-shod foot, "It's SO humiliating! I resolutely resist your advances!"

Her hand reaches out to brush against his shirt-front, dropping slowly to brush against something she can feel is very resolute indeed, "Non, it is not humiliating. It is very gratifying. To ME. As for you," she takes him by the shoulders and pushes him none too gently over the threshold and into the shadowed interior, "I hope you take SOME pleasure in my bad manners!"

As the door closes behind them, shutting out the bright sunlight and any inquisitive eyes that may be on the beach, his voice is heard, "Your bad manners will be the absolute death of me!" More quietly is the last bit of actual speech heard in the vicinity for almost an hour, "Thank God!"

Hours later, they lay tangled in utter exhaustion. As the day darkens down, she slips out of bed and lights candles. When he rouses enough to see what she's doing, he laughs in delight. All the candles are in little tin cups and tea pots. He takes her back into his arms and whispers against her lips, "Oh, god, woman, I love you."

This is their private moment and they deny themselves nothing.

END

**Well, I have to admit, I'm feeling a bit sad to start the final leg of a year-long journey into fandom. Once these episode-inspired stories are done, whatever shall I do with my life?**


	2. Chapter 2

**S2 E7 – Come Stay At Mine**

Part 1 of 2

He'd refused. Naturally. He HAD to. A gentleman simply does not accept a woman's invitation to stay with her. Not on a professional basis. Not even on an I-want-to-save-your-life basis. It simply isn't done. A gentleman must remain a gentlemen even if it means avoiding all situations where ungentlemanly-like behaviour may be forced to the surface.

ESPECIALLY any such situation involving his Sergeant. Not to name names or anything. Just stating a fact. A simple truth.

No matter his skipping heart. No matter his stopped breath. No matter he'd almost choked on the unwelcome excitement that swelled in his breast. Good thing his back had been turned.

No. The answer HAD to be no.

No, no, no, no.

No, thanks.

He'd kept a neutral face and an even tone. Decorum was preserved and the status quo maintained. Life could go on and his boxed-in heart would stop hurting sooner or later, surely. After all, he couldn't possibly pine for this woman for the rest of his life, could he? Sooner or later his heart will give up. Give up or wear out. Or she will move on and leave him behind. Either way, the torture will end sometime.

But then…

… they'd been caught just outside of town and the Defender had blown sideways onto the beach and he'd tumbled out of the cab and rolled like a particularly handsome toy on the sand. The SAND! Between gusts she'd managed to retrieve him before he'd plunged into the wild ocean surf and they'd fought their way back to the nearest buildings…

… and her place had been right there... safe and dry and secure… and they'd been soaked and frozen and weather-beaten almost to senseless pulp… so…

Well, what can a man DO when the entire world rages against him? He gives in and seeks shelter. At her place. Not that he had all that much choice, being dragged backwards by the collar and all, but, still, he likes to think he managed it in a gentlemanly manner.

As she secures the door behind them, he glances around, purely out of curiosity, naturally. Neat and tidy, not girly at all. This reassures him somehow.

At his look, she scoffs, "Yeah, my Barbie collection is up under my bed. Care to see it?" He blanches but manfully ignores it. She has to give him credit… he didn't rise to the bait like she'd hoped. Darn.

She gets the broom and tries to sweep him down there by the front door but he is absolutely coated in sand, sticks, and leaves. There is no hope for it. They both know it. He is going to have to strip down and wash himself. She tries to laugh it off, "Care to stand outside and let the storm scrub you?"

He gulps and shakes his head, "Too cold, too wild..."

She gives him a solemn look, "And too dangerous. OK. The shower it is then." She leads him to the bathroom, spreads towels on the floor, and leaves him to it without a backward glance. "I'll make some coffee so we can warm up," she calls as the door closes behind her.

He stands there on the frozen cusp of masculine modesty and phobic dread. The dread wins. He simply HAS to get the sand off. He hadn't been kidding about hating sand in every possible bodily orifice. This is SO MUCH worse than sandpaper down his trousers. He can actually taste it in the back of his throat. Has he breathed it in? _Please, god, no. Not in my lungs! Isn't that silicosis? Certain death?_

As he strips, hearing sand gobbets plunk onto the towels, he coughs and spits into the sink until the raspy feel is gone from the back of his tongue. He scrapes off the worse of the gunge smeared all over his hide then steps into the translucent shower stall with silent thanks.

As he stands under the warm steady stream of water (something he doesn't have at home), he marvels at the plethora of bottles lined up in the stall caddy. _How many products does a single person need to make herself presentable to the world_, he wonders? Quite a lot, apparently. He scans the many bottles. _She's already perfect. Why does she waste money on unnecessary fripperies?_ His mind wonders if this is a hidden sign of insecurity. Camille? Insecure? Never!

Just as he is getting up the nerve to open something called 'Mango Mint Medley', he hears the room door open behind him! He whirls instinctively, covering himself with the bottle. Thank god it is a jumbo.

Through the frosted glass he can just make out a shadowy figure stooping to collect up the towels and his pile of defiled clothing. "I'm just getting this out of here so you don't track it into the rest of the place," she calls. "I'm leaving you a spare robe."

When she leaves, his heart starts up again. It's an odd feeling, sweat on your skin when you're already standing under a shower. Sort of double-wet, somehow.

Then his brain kicks out a slightly indignant thought. _A spare robe? WHOSE spare robe?_ He shakes his head, _None of my business! Her personal life is her own and I've no right to…_

The little voice pipes up a bit peevishly, _Yes! But! I'd still like to know…_

"Quiet, you," he whispers, surprising himself a little. He shakes his head again, _And now I'm talking to myself. This storm is sending me around the twist. Calm down, man. Get yourself presentable. That suit is going to need a major cleaning before I can venture back outside as soon as I can._

He is just starting to settle, trying not to follow his thoughts into uncharted territory, when he hears the room door open once more. This time the shadow doesn't stop. The shadow is moving. RE-moving its' own clothes! He sees coloured bits falling away and the shadow is becoming more and more one colour. A truly exquisite café-au-lait colour to be sure… but… but…

Before his benumbed mind can kick into gear, the stall door jerks open and there is suddenly another person in his midst and he hasn't the slightest clue what to do about it! It is only with great good luck that he notices her hand is over her eyes before he yelps like a startled virgin.

"Sorry! Sorry!" she laughs, "But I need to get cleaned off too before the power goes out. Aren't you done yet?" She says it so casually! Like she isn't naked in a tiny (claustrophobic and getting smaller by the second!) shower stall with a… he looks down at himself… oh, no… with an obviously excited male of the species about to embarrass himself all to hell and gone!

"Sergeant!" he barks in desperation, "Don't you DARE look at me!" He begins frantically swabbing himself off. Well, certain parts of himself… some parts he can't touch at all. Fortunately for him, those parts were the most protected against his roll on the beach… so good! He is almost done when he hears a tiny gasp in front of him and he just knows what he is going to see when he looks up.

Yep. She is definitely peeking between her fingers and the jig is up! And not just the jig! His whole demeanor is going to blast apart in about 3 seconds if he doesn't… He sees the washcloth at the last possible moment and grabs it up to cover himself.

It isn't a jumbo. It doesn't do nearly as good a job.

END – part 1


	3. Chapter 3

**S2 E7 – Come Stay At Mine**

Part 2 of 2

As his cheeks flame and he thinks he is going to totally die of mortification, she has to add fuel to the fire and begins tugging at the cloth! "Don't," she says softly, "don't cover up. You're beautiful! Oh, my god, so beautiful!"

For once, she sounds totally cowed and subdued, which confuses him even further, and this time he does yelp! If ever a man is justified in yelping… this is that man! "Camille! For god's sake, turn your back!" He keeps hold of the cloth but just barely and it takes both hands.

"Why?" she says in wonderstruck tones, "The good stuff is right here in front of me. Holy…"

Something in her voice makes him hesitate. He frowns slightly, cocks his head, then frowns mightily. _Oh. OK. Now I get it. She's taking the mickey out of me! A woman like this… she can't possibly be interested in me! Not even remotely. Not in the slightest. Not plain old me. Well, two can play at this game, Miss Bordey!_ His heart breaks a little as he nods and scoffs, "OK, Camille, joke's over. Ha ha, very amusing. Now let me out of here." He grits his teeth. _Bitter bitter wormwood and gall. How dare she mock me like this? As if I'm not in enough pain already. I ought to write her up!_

But she's putting on a good show. If he didn't know better, he'd almost swear she is sincere in her fascination with his… his… his accoutrement. She drags her eyes up to his and seems to search for words a bit breathlessly, snap-clicks an elegant hand, "How about your back? Did you get your back?"

This gives him pause. No, he didn't get his back. He isn't double-jointed and there's no scrub-brush. She sees his hesitation and actually lays hands on him! He is so surprised that he doesn't react at all as she deftly spins him around and begins to lave his back… his back and… as her hands dip lower he practically crashes through the wall in front of himself, cringing in outraged manhood and bellowing, "Camille! Stop touching me!"

"Why?" is her calm reply, "You feel so good! Especially here…" and her hands encroach on the forbidden zone: the forbidden, don't-think-about-it-and-maybe-it-will-go-away, always-such-a-distraction, he-wishes-he-could-leave-it-at-home-in-a-bottle, zone.

He defends his honour, "I order you to stop that! Don't use my weakness against me! That's not fair!"

"Doesn't seem weak to me," she coos. _What wonderful reflexes she has_, he thinks as she artfully dodges his best attempts to capture her hands. When he is plastered up against the wall behind himself, breath coming in short pants, his mind swimming with delirium… she DOES step away… briefly.

"Richard," she says in such a reasonable tone of voice that he can hardly believe the predicament he's in, "I just want you to know that I've dreamed about this moment for a long time now."

He can't think of anything to say except, "How long is 'a long time'?" in a rather breathless voice. Oh, he can hear his own pulse hammering!

"Months, maybe a year, I don't know, but this isn't a sudden impulse for me. You aren't a game or a toy. I'm deadly serious. Will you allow it?" Her hands rest upon him. She is awaiting his answer.

The silence is deafening… except for the sound of the shower and the roaring storm outside. Or is it roaring inside now too? He can't tell. He is trembling on the cusp of something huge. He feels so small before it. A mote. A speck. A tiny bit of flotsam in the face of a tidal wave. A tidal wave called Camille.

He makes one last valiant effort, "Allow what?" As if he doesn't already know. But he needs to hear it. He needs to know in his heart that this is real and she isn't playing him like he's been played in the past. _Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me!_

She leans in ever so gently and whispers, "Will you let me love you? Please? Not just for today or a week or a month but for a life time? Can you do that? Will you trust me to do that?"

And his answer surprises them both, "Of course. I've been waiting a long time for just that."

She stands back, hands on hips in her best Sergeant-mode, "Well? What's stopping you?"

He looks at her. Really looks at her. Sees her. Sees her seeing him. And his decision is made without conscious thought. He takes her gently and pulls her to him, "Nothing. Nothing at all."

The storm howls and screams and sobs all night long. Or… it might have been the storm. Might have been something else just as elemental but a lot more enjoyable. Either way, when dawn steals into the bedroom, it finds two souls deeply entwined and devoted to one another.

'Hers' became 'theirs' without the slightest regret on anyone's part. In fact, Maman seemed more thrilled than either of them although Richard didn't think that was remotely possible either. But still.

House-hunting began the very next day and baby boy Poole #1 is born 9 months later, give or take the time it takes to towel off and pour two glasses of wine.

END


	4. Chapter 4

**S2 E7 – It's Just Drinks**

In public

As the team takes Professor King into custody and Richard is packing up his briefcase and Camille is conveniently not paying attention - Dean Hearst sidles up to Richard and says, "I've never been instrumental in solving a murder case before. I must say, it's very exciting, nerve-racking really. I could use a nice calming drink. Would you care to join me in my office for some very peaceful brandy?"

Richard checks on his team. _Everything is proceeding apace; surely I can be spared for a few moments?_ He hasn't had a single moment of academic contact since arriving at Saint-Marie. How he's missed it. Surely a scholarly drink is his just due? He turns back to the Dean and nods, "I would like that very much, thank you."

The Dean smiles and holds out a gesturing hand, showing him the way. They wander off down the hallway together, chatting chummily of lofty and brainy things. When Camille looks up several moments later, he is gone. She doesn't think much of it.

Then.

In private

In the Dean's office, he relaxes on the leather sofa with a snifter of excellent brandy. He sips his drink and lets it wash tranquil quietude over him. He sighs, "You can't know this but I majored in History. I often wonder what would have happened if I'd stayed in academia instead of joining the force."

She studies him for a long time from her place by the mini-bar, "It's hard to say which would be the greater loss… your influence on young minds or your acumen in catching killers. What do you think?"

He laughs a bit deprecatingly, "Oh, well, when you say it like that… catching killers, definitely! But I still miss it… the halls of knowledge and all that. Cool stairwells, the bells, the smell of chalk dust, the hustle and bustle of the student body, inquiring minds…"

"Mmm-hmm," she murmurs, slowly making her way across the room towards the sofa, "I must say your mind impresses me greatly. It makes me wonder…"

He takes another sip, not really listening as she sinks onto the cushion beside him, "Wonder what?"

Her next words choke the brandy in his larynx as a hot hand lands on his knee, "Whether the rest of you might be just as impressive. Care to join me in exploring this avenue of inquiry?"

In the meantime

Camille is concerned. _Where IS he?_ She's looked for him everywhere he could be. Now she is wondering if he is somewhere he SHOULDN'T be? _That Dean! She'd been eyeing him up pretty sharp towards the end of his Big Show-Off I'm-such-a-smarty Reveal. Might she be involved in this sudden scarcity of Inspectors?_ Somehow, Camille senses urgency is of the utmost importance right now.

She gets directions to the Dean's office and rushes right over. _Just on the off-side chance that he got lost. Not that I for a MOMENT suspect anything untoward is going on – not him! But her?_ And just as she is thinking this - the door in front of her flies open and Richard comes shooting out like a comet!

It's hard to tell who is more surprised… him… her… or the Dean who is right on his heels.

He grasps Camille swiftly by the shoulders and swings her around to face the Dean who stops in her tracks with the look of a hound who has lost the scent.

"Yes!" he barks, "My Sergeant and I are due back at the station! Look at the time! Must run! Sorry about the spilt brandy. I'm sure it will blot out. Ta!" He then hastens off so swiftly that Camille and the Dean are left all alone, standing in the hall, looking at one another.

One in bewilderment. One in frustration.

Camille's bewilderment lasts about one nano-second before she recognizes the Dean's resemblance to a thwarted cat (she sees it often enough at home in the mirror, after all), gives the woman a well-deserved glower, and hares off swiftly in pursuit of the rapidly diminishing suit who manages to keep well ahead of her despite her best efforts to run him to ground.

Nothing runs faster than a terrified bachelor Chief of Police, apparently.

She catches up with him outside in the parking lot, grabs his shoulder, "And WHAT… as if I didn't already know… was THAT all about? Can't I leave you alone for even ONE minute without you getting romantically involved with whatever female bystander is handy?"

He mops his brow, breathing heavily, "Oh, Camille! You have NO idea how glad I was to see you! That woman! AND she's married! Her family portrait is on her desk!" He leans on the Jeep's hood and shudders, "How could she say such things to me?"

"WHAT things?" she almost yells at his back, one hand definitely clenching into a fiery fist of death.

He gulps a bit, stands up, starts folding his handkerchief up neatly, "Oh," he huffs shakily, waving a lackadaisical hand, "You know, how attractive my history degree is when coupled with my glamorous record as a detective inspector with a perfect solve record. How I'd be a prime catch for her university. How she could introduce me to all the right people and set me up with my own department and my own faculty and…"

Camille is rigid with offense, "OH! I can just imagine how she would set you up! Yes, I can! How dare she?! The nerve of that woman! Trying to seduce you with cheap scholarly lures when I've…"

He stops folding, "Yes?"

She is suddenly very quiet, "Um, what?"

He is watching her very carefully over his shoulder, hearing something in her voice, "You said 'the nerve of that woman trying to seduce me whereas YOU'… You what?"

She shrugs and is immediately busy with packing him up into the truck, "Oh, you know, where I have to protect your honour from all comers. That's my job after all, keeping the boss safe and doing his job. Criminals don't catch themselves, you know."

"Hmmm," he says in a kind of 'I'm not sure I believe you' tone that she really hopes means 'I didn't understand what you almost said there'. He shoves his handkerchief back into a pocket, "Well, all right, let's get back to the station. I DO have a ton of paperwork to finish. I wasn't lying about that."

She pauses behind the wheel, "Lying? You? To the Dean? What were you lying about?"

He fidgets, "Well, um, during one of my laps around the sofa, I MIGHT have alluded to a personal relationship with a female colleague in a desperate attempt to get out of that office unmolested."

She gives him a careful look, "Did it work? Are you unmolested?" Now she has TWO fiery fists of death.

"Yes, thankfully, almost surely due to your unexpected appearance upon the scene. I can't begin to thank you enough for being in the right place at the right time." He looks over at her and chuckles, "A very useful talent for an officer of the law, don't you think?"

She isn't quite as forgiving as he is. She growls and starts the truck, "Well, that settles it!"

He gives her a puzzled look, his calm facade once more falling into place now that he is safe back in his little insular world, back with his Sergeant; safe as houses, safe as The Bank of England, safe as the EU.

She gives him a hot look in return, "I am obviously going to have to stick to you like glue from now on! Someone has to defend your honour and I'm IT! The other officers don't know the competition… I mean, people of a female nature… quite as well as I do. That's another useful talent, don't you think?"

He sighs forlornly, "Yes. Sorry. I know I'm a burden to you. It's not like I encourage it, you know."

"I know," she sighs back.

He shrugs and gestures helplessly with both palms, "It's like there's some sort of sign over my head, 'Totally clueless so try your feminine wiles on THIS one.' It's not fair. Why can't women keep their distance and just let me get on with my life?"

She sighs again, "I just wish there was some way to protect you all the time. I can't watch your back every minute of every day. I have to sleep sometime! Then there's our days off! Oh, it's hopeless."

He gives her a commiserating look, wishing he could help her solve this odd problem.

She gives him a sideways look and teases, "Maybe we could change that sign over your head somehow, from 'clueless' to 'taken'? Then they'd leave you alone, wouldn't they? Well, the decent ones anyway."

He nods, "Yes. That would be ideal but how to do it? Hmm?"

As they drive out of the lot, they both ponder this shared personal and professional dilemma.

For such smart savvy people, they can be awfully dumb.

END


	5. Chapter 5

**S2 E7 – Soft Pleadings in the Night #2**

Part 1 of 3

Him

She lays down at last. Finally! Those mesmerizing eyes are closed and his pulse can start to slow down. He blindly reaches out and hefts a book, opens it, holds it up, but his mind isn't on the book. His mind continues to whirl with supposition, questions, and uncertainty. _What in the world has just happened here? We'd just been talking… quietly and calmly… and then… then somehow the conversation had become something else. Something personal. Something trusting. Something intimate._

And his tongue tangled and his nerves jangled and he'd faltered. He'd faltered and fails once more to give whatever it is she seeks. She'd waited. He saw her waiting - for something he didn't know how to give. He also saw the disappointment in her eyes as she'd turned away.

Now she is lying down, sinking into sleep, and his pulse is calmer, and now he can think of things to say but it's too late. Too late once more. He is always too late.

He casts one last longing look over his shoulder to her profile so perfect on the pillow behind him, sighs in suppressed pain and almost… ALMOST… puts the book down… but…but… that way leads to madness! He shakes his head to rattle his brains back into civility and turns back to the calming effect of the printed word; his solace, his refuge, his tried and true cowardly escape.

Her

She lies quietly, trying to slow her racing heart and fight back painful tears. _This was supposed to be the night! I planned everything so carefully! I finally worked up the nerve to ask him to stay at mine during the storm. My place is stocked with fresh breads and cheeses and fruits and wines and even his favourite tea… and now it is all going to waste! He refused my bravely casual offer out of hand with not even a 'sorry' or 'thanks for offering but', just a flat polite 'no'. 'No' - tossed like a grenade right into my heart! He wasn't even gentleman enough to pretend he'd been tempted._

She takes a deep shuddery breath. _Well, it serves me right! Why do I persist in this mad quest to win his heart? He doesn't HAVE a heart! All my earnest attempts to get his attention… ignored. All my flirty attempts to get his attention… ignored. Every single thing I've tried with growing desperation and disbelief… ignored! Ignored and overlooked and taken for granted - that's how I feel. I'm just a piece of furniture to him! _

She fumes, punching her pillow with a sudden fist. She doesn't see him flinch and almost drop the book behind her.

Him again

He watches her out of the corner of his eye. _Something isn't right - but what?_ He hears her quickened breathing, her tiny shifting movements. _Everything points to her being upset and I'm the only reason I can think of for her being upset… not that I think I'm so terribly important in her life but… whenever she's upset I'M usually the reason._ He sighs. _I really wish I understood her._

Her again

She grinds a cheek into her pillow, anger boiling. _Clacton?! What the hell is a Clacton? It's in England, right? Why would I go to England? To follow him? How dare he! I don't follow a man ANY where! Men follow ME! Men have suffered for ME! I've NEVER_… but now she gives a tiny sob, smothering it into her pillow because now she IS suffering, suffering horribly, and she doesn't know what to do.

_For the first time in my life, I'm baffled and clueless over a man. A man! A mere man has thwarted me completely!_ She closes her eyes in sorrow and bows to the inevitable after-thought. _But what a man!_ _He isn't 'mere'. He's everything! He's all I want - and now I have to accept that I'll never have him. He isn't interested and I'm just making myself ridiculous. I need to get to sleep, get through this awful night, and start fresh in the morning. Yes, a new and improved Camille Bordey will open her eyes tomorrow and get on with her life,_ she assures herself bravely_ –_ before a tiny voice whispers in her mind, _Yes,_ _a life without your man-heaven. Won't that be nice, Miss New-and-Improved? You coward._

She feels the on-rush of hot tears and wo-manfully tries to swallow them soundlessly lest he hear her and gloat! Never let a man really know how you feel about him. He will make your life a living hell.

Him once more

He is almost convinced that she is asleep. He does hear her muffled sounds and thinks maybe she is having a bad dream about the howling storm outside - when her tiny sob blasts through his calm façade like napalm. The book is dropped and he turns to lay a hand on her arm, not even thinking about what he can possibly say to redeem his inexcusable intrusion on her personal privacy, "Camille? What's wrong? Are you all right?" he whispers through stiff lips.

At first, he thinks he has made a bad mistake. _She isn't dreaming. She hasn't made that heart-rending little sound. I'm mistaken. I'm reading something into nothing. I've let my own fears and misgivings and desires fool me into hoping… fool me into thinking… fool me…_

As she stiffens under his hand, he realizes that he IS a fool, a hopeless silly heart-sick fool and now he's gotten himself into trouble. _How will I talk myself out of THIS faux pas?_ His hand flies off her arm and he whirls around to face away once more. His guilty hand covers his mouth as his eyes dart helplessly about looking for something – anything! - that will save him. _She is going to chew me out and I bloody well deserve it! Fool. Rhymes with Poole. _He waits in dreadful anticipation.

Her in surprise

She doesn't make a sound. She lies frozen. When his hand had landed on her arm his body heat had sunk into her bones, gooseflesh had run riot over her body, and her breath had stopped in her throat! Just the merest touch of his hand! She squeezes her eyes closed in agony. _Oh! Yes! I know why I persist in my foolish quest for his heart. He thrills me, he absolutely thrills me, and I am helpless to resist. _

Just as she is thinking that she will most gratefully follow him ANY where, his hand is snatched back and she is alone in the world once more. The pain is unendurable. She snaps up into a sitting position just in time to meet his back. He's turned away. Again. He is motionless. She waits in anticipated dread.

Him in fear

He knows he has to say something. Anything. He can't let her think that he touched her without thought… even though he had. He clears his throat and makes an attempt over his shoulder, "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I thought I heard you cry out. This storm, it's enough to give anyone nightmares, isn't it?"

_There. That sounds rational. Please, let her believe me once more and let it go._ He picks up his book once more, swallowing the words that clog his throat.

Her in sorrow

She is heart-broken. _He's just being polite… being the boss… he doesn't really…_

Then she sees the book. It is upside down. Her head cocks to one side all on its own, her innate detection skills roaring to the fore, not to mention her feminine wiles. _What? What does it mean? The book is upside down. So what? Well, it means he isn't really reading it, right? Which means he's faking… but why? Could HE be the scared one? Maybe he needs reassurance and comforting over the storm? Why do men have to be such babies about admitting to being nervous?_

She stretches out a hesitant hand and almost doesn't do it. But she does. She lays the hand on his shoulder. She lays a hand on his shoulder and feels the shock of it bolt through his body like pure pain!

He hisses and hunches forward, pulling away from her touch completely, dropping the book yet again.

She gasps in pain herself. She's never been so thoroughly rejected like this! Never! She pulls her hand away and whispers, "All right. I'm sorry. I get the message. I'll go… I'll go sleep in the other room," and she begins to fumble to her feet, dropping her pillow while doing so.

When he whips around and fixes her with tormented eyes, she freezes anew. _He doesn't look angry. He doesn't even look upset. He looks tortured._ She can't meet his gaze. Her eyes drop in defeat. _Oh, lord, how wrong could I be? About him… about me… about everything?_ She can't help it, the tears escape and she turns her face away to hide them.

Him in agony

He is stunned. _I don't understand ANY thing that's happening! Her hand on my shoulder… the hot bliss that shot though me actually hurt! Now she's pulling away, says she will go to the other room. I don't WANT her to go to the other room! I want her right here! With me. Here in this beautiful little bower that she built for the two of us, the bower that I should have built and the bower where I should be wooing her right now! Her silent tears are shredding my heart._ _What is going on? What is she doing… trying to kill me? I don't know what to do… what to say… I NEVER know what to say! Something important… maybe life-changing… is happening right here, right now, and I don't know what to do!_

He feels his entire future arrowing down to a pinpoint of unbearable import. Her eyes are bright with tears and she is looking at him with such pain. He swallows his fear and does the only thing he can think to do. His hand shoots out and grasps her arm to keep her with him.

Together

They lock eyes and only the storm is heard – the storm and their drumming hearts.

The silence is broken by two low voices speaking at the same moment…

… "Don't go/What's wrong?"

They both hear the unspoken longing. They both hesitate. They both wonder, hardly daring to hope.

END – part 1


	6. Chapter 6

**S2 E7 – Soft Pleadings in the Night #2**

Part 2 of 3

Neither one wants to answer in case they make matters worse but he can't bear the silence and so he leaps in with a quick prayer, "Don't go. Stay. Here. With me. I want you to… to be with me." His tongue feels like a block of dense wood. Did he even manage to say what he thought he said?

She warns herself not to read too much into this. _He's so contrary; he probably means the opposite to whatever he just garbled out. It sounded like the Queen's English… but who knows what he really meant? Still, it had sounded almost romantic. Impossible, of course, but still…_

She tries to clarify matters, "You do? You really want me to stay here? With you? Um… are you afraid of the storm?" She flinches. _Damn! Why did I have to give him a face-saving fall-back position? Of course he will claim it's the storm! Heaven forbid that he admits to anything personal! Heaven forbid that I get even one tiny crumb of solace!_

He is watching the emotions fly across her face, frowns minutely then shakes his head.

She blinks. _No? Not the storm? Then what? His hand is still firm on my arm and he hasn't dropped his eyes. _ "What then?" she dares, "What are you afraid of?"

This makes him drop his eyes. He seems to be searching for words.

She blinks again. _Him? Lost for words? Must be the end of the world!_ Her hand comes up to cover his hand on her arm and she just has to plead, "Richard, talk to me. Please. Tell me what you're thinking. This tension between us is killing me."

Her hand slowly makes its way along his arm back up to his shoulder. She watches it without really believing it's happening – that he is actually allowing her touch! Then she sees something that makes her heart leap and her mind stumble. _Is it my imagination or did his head dip a tiny fraction towards my hand? Did his eyes flick closed for just the barest moment? Did he look happy for just the smallest nanosecond? Richard… responding to me?_

_Her hand sliding up my arm -_ it sends shivers down his back. The warmth, the comfort, the PROMISE - it opens up a whole new world to him, a world he knows he wants very badly. _If her merest touch is undoing me so totally then what would a kiss do to me? What would a caress on bare skin do to me? _

His fear swells up immensely. _Everything rides on what I do and say next, or don't do or say. Oh, god, why am I so scared?_ Looking into her swimming brown eyes, he knows. _I'm scared because this woman is my only salvation and I'm afraid I will ruin it._

The words are out of his mouth before he realizes it, "I'm afraid I'll ruin it." His eyes flare in fear and he bites his lip. _I said it aloud_, he chides himself! _I said it aloud and now she'll know! She'll know how I feel - and what I want - and what I don't deserve in the least!_

She hears his words, sees his reaction, and knows he's let slip something he's tried very hard to hide. But what? _Hide what?_ _Ruin what? Our working relationship? Our quasi-friendship, if it can be called a friendship? His orderly quiet monk's life? My career? His career? WHAT?_

Before he can turn his stricken face away, she catches his jaw and holds him in place, forcing him to meet her eyes, her scared uncertain not-sure-what-the-hell-is-going-on eyes. She HAS to know! She simply has to know what the f*#k he is talking about! _C'mon, Richard! Speak English!_

"Ruin what, Richard? Tell me. I'm ordering you to tell me!"

Her order is ludicrous. He knows this. _She isn't the boss of me! But - this whole boss/subordinate thing - that's what's been holding me back, isn't it? Well, THAT plus my total ignorance of women._ _This is it_, he realizes! _This is the moment, our moment, and I have to say just the right thing, DO just the right thing. Else… _he looks at her in abject foreboding, e_lse it's all for naught._

His lips part… but they do not speak.

They gaze in suspended hope and dawning horror at one another. Is the moment passing them by? Will nothing save them? Can neither of them find the courage to act?

Then, unexpectedly, they hear a whisper… a whisper so quiet that they have to check twice to make sure the others lips aren't moving. Well, if THEY didn't say it then where did this whisper come from? They glance wildly about the room, peering into the jostling shadows that somehow seem too numerous for the amount of flickering candle light. The air suddenly feels heavy, velvety, close, full of unseen presence.

The sound of the storm pauses briefly, a lull, a chance to catch a breath, and the whisper repeats. They can tell they both heard it by the simultaneous widening of their eyes, by their synchronized leaning in towards one another, by the mutual parting of lips.

… very low… very deep… almost sepulchral… **_KISS … NOW…_**

It is an order that they both heartily and gratefully accept without further thought.

After that, everything falls into place as naturally as if choreographed.

Lots of glorious action and very little dialogue.

END – part 2

**OK, deus ex machina (ie. the Loa), I freely admit it. This solution was brain-stormed for me but I've long thought that Erzuli amuses itself at Richard's expense so I let it ride. Or maybe there's a long-game being set up. Either way, he's a goner and his fate is sealed despite his own thoughts on the matter.**


	7. Chapter 7

**a tad 'M' towards the end, couldn't seem to avoid it somehow**

Part 3 of 3

It is many hours later and she is laughing into his merry flushed face, "What in the world is a Clacton and why would I ever want to go there? You are NEVER going back to England so give it up, Caravan-Boy!"

"Oh, don't say that! We might go back… to visit, you know? My parents…" He hushes, suddenly uncertain. _Can I still ruin everything? Even now? After so much hard work and exultant pleasure, can I still ruin it all? Well, of COURSE I can! I'm Richard Poole, after all._

She sees his self-chastisement and kisses him sweetly, "No, no, my darling, don't doubt yourself any longer. We've just started to forge a real partnership here. We need to understand each other… to make allowances for our different ways. What are you thinking? Tell me. That's another order."

He swallows, smiles tremulously, and nods. _Yes, she's right. I can't keep myself to myself any longer. If she's in my life then she is IN my life… and that means telling her what I'm thinking and feeling_. "I want to take you home," he says low, flinching, "I mean BACK… to meet my parents… when the time is right… when we are…" He falters, unsure of her reactions, still fearing the worst.

She smiles in victory. _He's so shy. He thrills me even more now than before. Oh, I am so totally lost! And HE is so totally captured and taken and claimed and… and I have to kiss him once more! Just have to… can't help myself…_

He gives her a questioning look once she leans back to his side, "What was THAT for? Surely you're not ready for more… more…?"

"More of you?" she smirks.

He has the grace to blush but nods self-consciously, eyes flitting everywhere but at her.

She stretches luxuriously and groans at all the tired muscles and exhausted nerve-endings, "Oh! I never thought I'd say this but… no, no more. I need to rest and get my energy back. You are one little black-hole of masculinity, aren't you?"

He huffs a laugh and continues to blush, "Please, Camille, don't tease me. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't want to jeopardize even one minute of this heaven by saying or doing the wrong thing."

She runs a possessive hand down his torso, "Oooo, no worries there. It would take something totally awful to make me mad at you right now."

"So, wondering about our future… that doesn't bother you?"

"Not at all, chéri, but let's not make too many plans for the moment. We have a lot of things to work out right here, right now. You're the man and I'm the woman but you're also the DI and I'm your DS. Somehow we have to forge a brand new partnership that fits into our old life as well as the new life we're going to build together."

She has found something new to fondle. He squirms in embarrassed pleasure before she gives him a final pat and nestles down at his side. He takes her into his arms with a sigh of relief. The sensual overload is hard to handle. His nerves are still jumping. _How am I going to manage to sleep tonight? Tonight of all nights?! _

_Shhh,_ his mind whispers, _sleep should be the last thing on your mind right now!_

He reins in his libido with a stern warning and answers her, "That makes a lot of sense. We need to settle everything between US first… then we can tackle the rest of the world."

"Exactly," she breathes, glorying in the feel of him next to her; so warm, so soft, so firm, so Richard. She wiggles around a bit, trying to find more of him to press herself against, "Mmmm, if you were a blanket I'd wrap myself up and happily smother."

He chuckles, "Well, that doesn't sound like much fun, does it?"

"Oh, I don't know," she murmurs, feeling sleep stealing over her, "maybe I could make you into a suit and wear you forever."

"Oh, I don't know," he mimics, feeling sleep fall away once more, "You worked so hard to get me out of my suit, why would you want to put one on yourself?" He slips a thigh over hers, running a hand up her ribs to cup a breast.

She squirms in turn, "Oh, you! You can't possibly be serious! How much more can one man take?"

He nuzzles her neck, raw desire overriding his manners again, "As much as he can get, obviously! Will you deny me? Poor lonely little me?"

She can't help but laugh, "Oh! Not when you put it like that! How can I refuse such an impassioned plea?" She cups her breasts and mounds them firmly up for his inspection.

"Ah! Such loveliness cannot be ignored," he murmurs before once more dipping his head to her. He thoroughly enjoys her sounds as she submits yet again to his attentions. As he works her succulent body to feed his hunger, he marvels. _What in gods' name was I so worried about?_

As he spirals down into renewed bliss, a drift of air circles the room and he almost swears he hears another breathless whisper… much softer… almost indulgent…

_**… men … tsk…**_

_Indeed_, he thinks without thought as her body answers his, _tsk and double tsk_.

The storm rides out the night and so do they. Come the morning, they are awake and dressed, sufficiently sated with just enough sleep to brazen out their confrontation with Dwayne and Fidel, and ready to start their new life by catching a killer.

That evening, her secret stash of seducible comestibles and libations is thoroughly explored, exclaimed over, explained, enjoyed, and even worn briefly before being consumed to the utter satisfaction of both parties involved.

Into the wee small hours of the night.

Best money she ever spent.

END


	8. Chapter 8

**S2 E7 – The Bet**

Part 1 of 2

'**Drinks all afternoon says he hasn't a clue!'**

Through the haze and pleasant buzz of alcohol, D. I. Poole distinctly remembers SAYING that.

He even remembers meaning it.

But not in a losing frame of mind. Oh, no. He'd been SO sure he was right that it never even occurred to him that he might be wrong and that he might spend the rest of the afternoon trying to keep up with a French woman who obviously had a hollow leg or maybe is pouring her drinks out the window when he isn't looking!

Not that he isn't looking!

Oh, no, to that, too.

He's looking at her all right. Can't seem to help it. He also can't help but notice how she seems to glow with some inner hilarity that he doesn't understand. He slips one eye closed and peers at her anew. _Yep. Nope. She's awful happy about something. But what? Maybe she's got a hot date lined up for later after she's drunk me under the table?_ His heart twists suddenly but he puts it down to the burning peristalsis in his throat and shrugs it off.

As the afternoon wears on and the liquor builds up in his system, he just has to marvel at her capacity for liquor. _God! Did the woman never pause for breath? Whose idea was it to keep pace with each other? I'm heavier. I have the greater body mass. I should be the one to set the pace. But… no… once again she's out-maneuvered me somehow. Christ! Where is she putting it? There's nothing to her! _

He spends a pleasant minute running his gaze over her, wondering where she can possibly be putting all this booze when she catches him at it. He stumbles out an apology but she just grins and looks more gleeful than ever. He is supremely grateful to escape another dressing down for ogling. It wasn't an ogle. It wasn't! He is merely appreciating her… her… her fitness. Yes! Her fitness.

He downs his current drink to cover up his lapse. _Whomever she's seeing tonight, he's in for one hell of an adventure, if I'm any judge of women who indulge. _His heart gives another odd twist. He thumps himself on the chest, trying to loosen whatever obstacle is lodged in his throat but there doesn't seem to be anything there. Odd.

They have now finished everything he has in his little shack. _Even the cooking sherry! God help me! _

She stands up, grabs her purse, and a wave of relief washes over him. _She's done! She's going! I'll be left in peace and quiet to pass out here in this chair. I'll wake up with a thumper of a headache and a groaning back but… I'll take whatever small mercies I can get!_ He salutes her with his empty glass, "Ave, victor. I concede defeat. Go thy way in triumph." Except he says it in Latin without realizing it.

She stands over him, seeming to be weighing him somehow.

_Probably comparing me to her hot date, _he thinks morosely. _God, why do I have to be such a zero? Why don't women look at me like that? What can't SHE…?_ He shakes his head abruptly. _Don't go there, Poole. She's not for you. If she even suspects what I'm thinking… Oh, the laughter! I couldn't stand her scorn, or even worse, her pity. Man up. Send her on her way. She deserves a life and this isn't it!_

He lifts his glass to her once more and says, "Calling it a day?" At least, that's what he thinks he says.

"Oh, no," she finally murmurs, "Not when things are just starting to get interesting! I'm off to Maman's to raid her bar. I'll be right back! Don't you go anywhere!" She leans down to stare into his hazy gaze with firm resolve, "And, even if you DO go somewhere, I'll find you. I'm a detective, after all." With that totally incomprehensible comment, she is gone, seeming to simply shimmer out of existence somehow.

He goggles about. _Yep, she's definitely not here. Unless…_ He manages to stagger to his feet after three tries. _Funny, I've never noticed how hard it is to get up out of these chairs before._ He carefully circumnavigates his veranda. No Camille. He peers in through the veranda door. No Camille. His eye is captured by his bed for some reason but he can see she's not there either. Giving up, he turns back to face his beach.

_MY beach_, he muses. _When did it become my beach? Well, about the same time I realized I no longer wished to go back to England. Benjamin Sammy showed me the truth. Saint-Marie is my home now. Mine to guard and mine to keep. But not alone. I don't want to be alone any longer. I have to do something. I have to make my life here. And for that, I need a real partner._

Once more, Camille's image roars into his head unbidden. He sucks in a deep breath, feeling his oxygen-starved cells soak it up like, well, oxygen. _OK_, he tells himself sternly, _enough of that! I need to sober up and I need to send her away when she gets back. This whole situation is getting too dangerous!_

He more or less falls down the two steps to his beach and desperately begins pacing. _Much more of this and I will be legless in no time and then… ! Who knows what will happen? Certainly not me! I've never been this drunk and alone with a woman before! Certainly not with a woman as irresistible as Camille Bordey! Certainly not with a French woman! Well, OK, half-French, but that isn't any safer! I'd better hurry up and get my wits back before the unthinkable happens! My thoughts are almost out of control. I can't risk making a slip and giving her the slightest hint as to my urges. She'll defenestrate me!_

Just as he is congratulating himself in managing such a big word, she is suddenly in his midst with such a collection of booze that he is sure her mother is complicit with the plan to get him so totally drunk that he loses his mind and his inhibitions and… _No! I have to try! I can't give in so easily as this! I have to fight it. Have to. Have to… _

She takes his hand and leads him back up the steps. She deposits him back into his chair and leaves momentarily. Just as his eyes are slipping closed once more, here she comes with yet another tray of assorted poison that is sure to kill him.

She locks eyes with him as she sets the tray down on the veranda table and gives him a challenging look that almost seems to say 'Are you man enough, sir?'.

END – part 1


	9. Chapter 9

**S2 E7 – The Bet**

Part 2 of 2

He returns the look stalwartly, one eyebrow up, struggles to his feet, and sweeps up the closest glass.

She does the same.

They stand stiffly face to face then quaff in unison.

He feels the booze burn its way to the very depths of his howling soul. He shivers. Puts down the glass. Wishes for her to leave. Or death. Whichever happens first. He's past caring.

She just puts down her glass with a tiny smile and licks her lips.

He sees this and knows at last that he is going to lose this contest; on every possible level and in every possible way. He takes a big breath and is just about to confess this to her with the hopes of negotiating some sort of surrender that will allow him to live with a shred of dignity when she speaks.

"I've always wanted to partake in a British 'drinks party'," she burbles in a totally stable sober manner.

"Y'have?" he slurs then tries again, "You have? Why? Wha 'so speshul bou' trinks?"

She smirks, "Well, 'drinks'! You know? British 'drinks'? We French all know what THAT means!"

"Y'do? Wha? I a'ways thaw it men drings." He shakes his head. _What gibberish is THIS I'm spouting?_

She puts another glass into his unsteady hand and smiles, "Oh, no! It means 'we'll start OUT with drinks' but then it turns into something else, doesn't it?" She gives him a cheery look over the rim of her glass.

He can't follow the thread of this conversation, small wonder as he's also losing his balance, "Duzit?"

She steadies him with a firm hand to the shoulder, gives him a shark's smile, "Yes, it starts off as 'drinks'. Then it turns into 'care for afters?' Then it turns into 'your place or mine?' THEN it begs the question…"

He stares at her owlishly, watching her lips move in a most pleasing manner. _What a lovely voice she has! I could listen to her talk all day… but what is she saying now? Something about questions?_

She leans forward and speaks very slowly, very clearly, making sure he understands the question in question, all the while running a thumb along his jawline, "Yes, it begs the question… am I THAT sort of girl?" She pauses, sees the dart hit him squarely amidships, nods, straightens up and continues, "But what I really want to know is…" she takes a deep breath that seems to fascinate him on so many many levels, "… what I REALLY want to know is… are you THAT sort of boy?"

He freezes, his drink half-way to his lips, and listens to this with growing surprise and amazement while that completely unbelievable hand meanders down his neck and strokes his collarbone. He has to arch his neck to look down at himself just to convince his stuttering mind that he really feels what he feels.

_Can his eyes get any greener,_ she wonders? She is totally satisfied with the stunned look on his face as her fingertips dip into the hollow at the base of his throat, his rapidly working throat. She can see his pulse too, speeding up as she watches. _Oh, yes, I think he's finally cluing in. About time, too!_

She waits several moments until his mental traffic jam seems to loosen and he slowly lowers his drink, making two or three attempts to speak before he manages, "Do y' know? I b'lieve I AM." He sounds just as surprised as he feels. He swallows, gives the question all due consideration then nods, "Yes, I mos' defint'ly AM! Or, I think I am. How do I find out?"

She quirks a brow and pulls in a quick breath. _A compliant tipsy Richard Poole was definitely worth the wait! Now, time to reel him in. But carefully. Carefully._

He finds his voice once more and says very slowly and succinctly, "How do I fin' out if I'm that sorta boy or not?" The possible answer to this crowds out every other thought in his head. His swimming head. _Surely she isn't suggesting…? She can't mean…? Me? Oh, god! Is it me?! _

He daren't allow himself to even let the thought linger. It hurts too much. But she is speaking again! He must attend. He stills and focusses on her lips once more. _Such beautiful lips._

"Well," she sighs in triumph and sets down her glass, "first you need a girl…"

His free hand loops around her waist, greatly daring, pulling her in closer, "Got one!"

She smiles, _Hmmm, maybe the time to be careful is almost over_. "Right, so you do." Her hands steal around his waist, "And I've got my boy. Now it's time to take this discussion inside where we can consider it from every angle."

He sets his drink down untouched and links his hands behind her hips. "From EVERY angle?" he muses from beneath lowered brows as he pulls her in closer still, "Carefully and slowly?"

She is already undoing his shirt buttons, "Yes, from every angle possible with stops all along the way to make sure we haven't missed anyth…"

His kiss interrupts whatever else she is going to say.

She never gets her drink.

Drinks are totally by-passed by a mutual decision and unanimous agreement.

And she discovers something else that day… other than what sort of boy he really is.

Yes, his eyes CAN get greener.

Much greener.

In fact, they practically glow in the dark.

END


	10. Chapter 10

**S2 E7 - Just Looking at Him**

Part 1 of 2

"Sergeant… Camille… a moment. A moment, if you please. May I speak to you for a moment, please?"

Camille halts her charge out the door. Mostly because he is standing in her way. He had ducked in so quick that she'd almost run into him. She drops her eyes, begins rummaging in her purse, "Sure."

He watches her for a half minute or so. She keeps rummaging. Finally her says, "You've been very reticent lately and I'm beginning to get the impression that…"

"That what?" Her eyes never leave her bag and she never seems to find what she is looking for.

"That you're upset with me about something."

"Why do you say that?" Eyes down, hands sifting through whatever detritus is in her bag.

"Well, for one thing this is the first time all week that I've managed to speak to you alone."

"So? I've been busy!" Now she is unzipping pockets and searching there too.

"Yes, I've noticed. So busy that the minute I enter a room you leave it! Also, you won't look at me. In fact, you've kept your back to me all week. What's wrong? Have I offended you in some way? Some way more than usual, I mean?"

"No. You continue to be your usual circumspect self. Nothing is wrong." She gives up searching and stands with head down. Tense. On edge. Expecting a fight.

He scoffs softly, "One thing you've taught me is sarcasm… and that is definitely sarcasm!"

She lifts hot eyes meet his, challenging, "So what? Are you going to fire me for being grumpy?"

He winces, sighs deeply, sadly, "No, of course not, but I really wish you would tell me what's on your mind. Unless you don't think I can handle it. In which case, I apologize for intruding on your thoughts." He turns away, a man spurned.

She bites her lip, torn between admitting the truth or saving her dignity, "Um…"

He stops, turns his head to listen.

"Well, it's nothing you've done, exactly. It's more about something Amber Collins said to me during our interview that has upset me a bit. I shouldn't have let her get to me. Look, try to forget it, OK? I'll get over it and be back to normal soon. Sorry if my manner upset you." Now she looks genuinely contrite.

He thinks for a moment then nods and goes back to his desk.

She sighs and sits back in her chair. _Oh, that went well! Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now I have to pretend I'm not on edge! AND I have to start looking at him again or he'll definitely know something is up!_ Head in hands, she slumps at her desk and Amber's voice is once more ringing in her head…

… **he couldn't work properly with me sitting there watching him. He said it was unnerving, me staring at him. But you know, it wasn't like I was making a noise or anything. I just liked being around him. I loved him. I mean, you don't have sex with people you don't love, do you? **_Do you? Do you? DO YOU?_ Over and over in Camille's head like a death knell - the plaintive voice of a young woman spurned and at a total loss on how to handle it.

Camille groans. _How DO you handle it? How am I to handle it? I've never been spurned in my life! I'M the spurner… never the spurnee!_ She sits up a bit straighter, hot anger flushing through her system as she eyes the man across the room. _What makes HIM so special, hmmm? It's not like I can't get through the day without gawking at him like a love-sick teenager!_ She glares at him in defiance.

He is focused on some file on his desk, his left hand massaging his brow, his mouth set in a slight frown as if something is bothering him. _His eyes are SO green! Even when he isn't looking right at me, they are still so green! And his finely tapered fingers_…

Oh, yes, she remembers how their hands had collided at the whiteboard while posting photos. And their struggle at the Meteorology Lab door where his hand had gleamed so pale beside hers! And how the book had sat in his hands while she'd forced herself to lie still behind him and feign sleep.

She remembers ALL of it plus so many more instances. So many many instances that have come and gone without a single hint how he feels (IF he feels anything at all!) for her. Her anger is gone. She is floating in a dreamy kind of fugue that is more and more her new normal these days.

Just as he looks up, she snaps her eyes down onto her desktop and fumes. _Stop it! He's oblivious but not stupid! He's going to figure it out sooner or later._ Her eyes dart back to him. He's back to checking his facts. As she watches him, just enjoying being in the same room with him, she can't help wishing he'd figure it out right now! Then her torture would end. One way or the other, it would end.

With a sigh, he slaps closed the file, sits back in his chair, crosses his arms, and looks up so quickly that he catches her in mid-gawk. She ducks her head and attacks her work, hoping nothing was showing on her face when he'd caught her watching him.

After a few minutes he rises and brings the file to her desk. She braids her fingers in front of herself and looks up at him, "Yes, sir? Do you need my help with something?"

"Well, yes, I've gone over Amber's file. I can't find anything to cause this upset. Care to enlighten me?"

She is sure her panic is flaring in her eyes! She swallows and says as calmly as she can manage, "Um, no, not really. It hasn't anything to do with the case. It was more of a… a personal nature. You know, girl to girl? That sort of thing. I'm not really surprised you didn't pick up on it. It's not a guy-thing."

He gives her an expectant look but then sighs when nothing more is forthcoming, "Oh, I see. Well, the only comment of a personal 'girl to girl' nature that I DID pick up on is that Leo didn't like her staring at him while he works. Is that the instance you are referring to?"

Camille freezes, eyes glued to her desk-top.

End – part 1 of 2


	11. Chapter 11

**S2 E7 - Just Looking at Him**

Part 2 of 2

He continues as if a woman-statue is completely normal, "Of course, you don't stare at anyone here at work, do you? That would be totally unprofessional and a waste of your talents. Am I right, sergeant?"

Her head is bobbing, "Oh, yes, sir. Totally, sir. Absolutely." He gives her a few moments to say more but her tongue is glued to the roof of her mouth and she still can't look at him.

He begins to turn away then turns back as if something has just occurred to him, "Unless… of course… the object of your attentions welcomes your attentions. That would be a completely different scenario, don't you think?" There is another long pause as he waits for her response. None comes. He sighs, "In which case, I think it would be a tragic waste of your OTHER talents." He waits again. She still isn't responding. He shrugs and turns away.

Her tongue unsticks all by itself, "My other talents? What do you mean?" She almost claps a hand over her mouth but makes do with biting her lip instead, wishing she could take back the question. This kind of discussion is SO out of his comfort-zone that she can't believe he's even attempting it!

He turns back to her, "I mean I miss your friendly manner, our shared glances and amused reactions to things we notice together. That's what Amber meant, wasn't it?" Camille nods, not daring even now to look at him. "She liked being in the room with Leo, watching him, just being with him, didn't she?"

Camille closes her eyes and nods again, dreading what is coming next. She should have known he'd figure it out. How could she have doubted him?

He almost whispers, "Well, she isn't alone in that regard. I like being in a room with you. What does that say about me?"

Silence falls in the big room.

Camille is thinking furiously. _Is he saying…? Could he possibly mean…?_ She looks up finally. He is watching her, hands clasped in front of himself, head slightly cocked, letting her decide.

_Can he be that sure of himself_, she wonders? _Is it possible he sees right through me?_ Then she sees the slight tremble in his hands, the veiled look in his eye, and realization strikes! _No, he isn't sure at all! This must be a huge gamble for him to even attempt. How long has he been getting up the nerve to say something? To_ _DO something? Oh, Richard! I see you! I see you clearly! Do you see me? Finally?_

She nods solemnly and he tightens up even further. "You're right," she agrees. "Amber said all that. It struck home pretty hard. I didn't realize it but… I DO watch you, don't I? I do it so much that you noticed right away when I tried to stop, didn't you?" Now it is his turn to nod, his hands stilling, his gaze sharpening. She laughs quietly, "You're too good a detective to miss something so glaring, aren't you? I don't know why I even tried to fool you. I really don't."

He huffs a pleased laugh, "Oh, I'm not THAT good. It was the little hearts you doodled in the margins of your notes that gave me the final hint."

She jerks upright in her chair, stares at him in dismay, hand over her mouth, "I DIDN'T! Oh, please tell me I didn't! Oh, Richard."

He nods, smiling at her reaction, "Oh, but you did. Care to see?" He turns the file to face her, steps behind her chair, and reaches over her shoulder to open the folder. As she leans down to look, a gentle kiss is pressed onto the back of her neck. It shoots an electric charge down to her toes and she almost crashes into him as she throws herself back upright without thought.

He's easily dodged her startled reaction and murmurs, "Oh, dear, my mistake, there are no hearts here at all. Hmmm, perhaps the hearts are doodled on MY notes. Shall I check?" He closes the folder from behind her shoulder, picks it up. So close. She can feel his body heat sinking in.

She twists in her chair to face him and suddenly his shoulders fill her world, so wide and sturdy and right there! "No, that won't be necessary," she rasps, "Those hearts are doodled somewhere… and if they're NOT, they will be, very soon now." He glances down. She follows his gaze to see her hands are gripping her chair arms with white knuckles. Their eyes meet and they enjoy their first shared moment in over a week. It feels wonderful.

His gaze grows intent, the green deepening and beginning to whirl. "Tonight?" he whispers.

"Right here and right now, if you want," she growls.

He slowly stands up, "Now, Camille, you know VERY well such actions would contravene several sections of the Policing Manual as well as incite riots in the street, the break-up of the fabric of society, and perhaps even cause the end of the world as we know it."

"So… that's a 'no'?" is her plaintive lament.

He smiles small, "No, that's a 'not here'. Surely there's a difference?"

She perks up, "By 'not here' do you mean 'somewhere else'? And by 'tonight' do you mean...?"

"Well now, since you haven't broken the peace, my nose, or my arm… I'm taking this as a positive sign of your acceptance of my attentions to your attentions. Am I correct in this interpretation?"

"Does that translate into 'your place or mine'? 'Cause if it does then the answer is YES! Will 'drinks' be involved? Shall we be vedy vedy civilized until all hell breaks loose and we disrupt the peace all over the place?" She is purring now, enjoying the firm grip he has on her libido.

He colours slightly, holds her mad gaze, "Oh, yes, there will be riots and mayhem… but not here."

She takes a deep breath, "No. Not here. OK. Tonight. Where?"

He holds her eyes for a long moment then whispers, "I'll toss you for it."

That's when Dwayne and Fidel come in to find their superior officers locked in yet another silent battle of wills. The two men race to their desks, hoping once more that today's fight doesn't escalate to breaking crockery and strewn office implements. _Boy_, they think as they both hunker down, _if looks could kill!_

END


	12. Chapter 12

**S2 E8 – Higher Education**

Camille walks away in a huff to the next tree and keeps her back firmly turned away from him and his starchy ways and his snide behaviour. _The nerve of the man! The Commissioner has very nicely invited us to this event and I SO looked forward to it! Free wine! Fancy food! Prawns! Yum! And HE is determined to spoil it!_

She scuffs her foot into the ground with a grunt. _Yes, trust him to ruin the best time I've had in weeks! What with the lull in the crime rate and this incessant heat and my fruitless wooing… don't I DESERVE a nice outing with normal people in a gorgeous big villa?_ She shoots a glance back over her shoulder. _Yes! I do! Him and his monk's existence! How does he manage? _ She sees him standing stiffly by himself, prawns glaringly absent. She swings back. _OH! That man! What do I see in him? Why do I put up with him? Why aren't I on the arm of any of these young men… or even any of these older men? Any ONE of them would be better company than HIM!_

She settles into a bit of a day-dream, seeing herself living in a villa like this… _well… maybe not THIS villa… it's HUGE... too big for me to handle. No, I'd settle for a much smaller place… not up here in the hills… down on a beach somewhere with soft breezes and washing waves... something nice to wake up and fall asleep to… and a man who is good and kind and easy to be with… not stroppy and snippy and all sharp corners and words that I barely understands sometimes. Definitely NOT an English man! No, no, no. English men are… are…_

Her light inattention deepens as her mind dwells on exactly what an English man COULD be… when a hand falls on her arm and startles her back to reality. _Oh, god! It's HIM! AND he looks upset! Oh, merde! Can't I escape him for even one MINUTE? _ She schools her face into politeness and snaps out, "What?!" a little more stridently then she intends.

His eyelids flutter briefly and his hand lifts off just a bit as if he is regretting bothering her but she sees him make up his mind to stay on course and say whatever is on his mind whether she wants to hear it or not. She softens her tone and tries again, "What? What is it? Didn't you like the prawns?"

He looks down at his empty plate and sets it down on a passing server's tray, "No, of course not, but Camille…" He stops, seeming to think over his words and trying to pick just the right ones so her little French brain can understand him. She seethes afresh but her seeth is interrupted by his odd manner. He is frowning and chewing his lower lip, hands twisting upon themselves like he is wrestling with something huge and doesn't know how to express it.

She leaps in with the first thing that comes to mind, "NO! You can't leave! We're here to press the flesh…" he winces "… drink this fine wine…" he winces again "… and eat as much of this expensive food as we can manage. I wish these shorts had bigger pockets!" He covers his eyes and groans. "What? You don't like these shorts?" she teases, unable to resist trying to catch his male attention once more.

His hand is still over his eyes and he mutters, "Those shorts… let's leave those shorts out of the conversation for the moment, shall we?"

She puts down her own plate and crosses her arms, "All right. The shorts are shelved. What's up?"

He raises both hands suddenly, his chin jutting out in frustration, "ME! I'M UP! I'm ALWAYS up! What is WRONG with me? I need a keeper, a minder, someone with a big net to throw over me whenever I'm out in public!" He covers his eyes again, quivering with some unknown emotion.

She touches him briefly on the shoulder and he flinches away. She drops her hand, "Ohhh-kayyy, what happened? What did you do? My back was only turned for a minute! Surely…"

He drops his hand and gives her a hot-eyed look, "Oh, I only went and totally insulted the host of this soireé, that's all! I called his wine 'vinegar' and his food 'dreadful'! If word gets back to the Commissioner, he will ship me back to England in a box!"

"With or without air holes?" she can't resist asking.

"I won't need 'em if I'm dead! Oh, Camille! What am I to do? How am I to manage? I'm not cut out for this sort of thing! I won't rise much higher in the ranks at THIS rate!" He slumps in defeat, "I'll be a DI for life if a miracle doesn't happen soon."

"OK, OK, relax! First of all, I'm sure our host didn't take your comments to heart! He's a business man and they have thick skins. Maybe he even thought you were joking? He'll remember you but not in a bad way, I bet! Especially if you circulate now and start working the crowd like you should."

"I should?"

"Well, of course! You're the Chief of Police, our first line of defense against the evils of the world! People would love to meet you, be reassured by you! The Commissioner will see you doing your PR duties and be very pleased."

"He will?"

"Yes. Who else can possibly replace him?" Richard stares, shakes his head. She nods back emphatically, "Yes, you! Naturally! It has to be you. You know the island. People respect you, even fear you…"

His head jerks back in surprise, "FEAR me? Why ever would anyone fear me?"

She puts a hand back on his shoulder and this time he accepts it, "You have to ask, my little Rottweiler? You attack and you never let go until you've shaken the crime to death. You read people's minds. You can see into their souls – or so the story goes. Anyone who tries to avoid you here today is probably a criminal and up to no good. I'll follow you at a discrete distance and take note of anyone you make nervous. Then we'll have a reliable list of probable suspects for future reference," she jokes.

He straightens up and a gleam of hope comes to his eye, "Yes, you're right. Capital idea! But you will NOT be at a discrete distance. You will be right by my side! You're the mind-reader soul-seer, not me. With your ability to read body language and your uncanny understanding of human nature, you will be my guide. I'll watch you and you will cue me on what to say and do."

She is privately pleased with his assessment but doesn't show it, "And how will I do that?"

"With that little thing you do with your eyebrow… and your eyes… and your mouth… and your body…"

"Yessss? What about my body?" _Oh, this suddenly got interesting!_

He gestures a bit helplessly at her, "Well, you know, how you stiffen up when you're pissed at me, and how you relax and smile when I've said or done just the right thing. All that. What we do every day in our work except we'll do it here in public." He is starting to relax, liking the idea.

She leans back, gives him a calculating look, "Oh, I see. And WHY would I want to do something in public that I never get to do in private, hmmm?" She waits to see if this dart shoots home or not.

It does, a bit, but not completely. He stills for a moment, looking slightly uneasy, "Well, we DO do it in private, when we're alone at the station or we're on a case and there's no one else around…"

She taps his chest with a stiff finger, "Mmm-hmm, that's NOT what I'm talking about and you KNOW it!"

He glances about anxiously, "Camille, please, I don't know anything of the sort. Besides, here comes the Commissioner. He will be a good test of our new strategy. It's very hard to insult the man so even if I stumble on our first attempt I won't get fired. Probably."

She whispers to Richard as they watch the uniform glide towards them, "OK, but we are GOING to continue this conversation VERY SOON. You need to be the Commissioner so I can be the D.I. Anything I can do to help bring that about is a GOOD thing!" At his startled look, she smiles, "Hey! A girl's got to have a plan." Giving him a quick once-over she thinks… _and a dream!_

His lips part in question but the Commissioner is suddenly in their midst and their first attempt at couple-hood goes off almost flawlessly. Richard watches her most carefully and takes his cues right on schedule, pressing his lips together and nodding instead of saying whatever god-awful thing he MIGHT have said if he'd been on his own. Only his eyes show the strain of refraining from blurting out whatever he is thinking. Camille has to hand it to him, he looks almost relaxed!

_His mad scheme is working!_ she thinks in wonder. _But he will need me more than ever now. And I have to make him see it!_ Just to hammer this point home, she sends him off with the big man to meet the rest of the Police Committee. She sees Richard gets the point too. She tells him most eloquently by eyebrow to 'play nice' and to watch the Commissioner for his next set of cues. The big man knows everything there is to know about working people to his advantage. Camille is a rookie compared to Selwyn Patterson. As Richard is dragged away, she knows his education has truly begun.

Who will question the advancement of Richard Poole with such a heavy-weight in his corner? _No one, that's who!_ Who will dare get in the Commissioner's way with a proven war-hound at his back? _Ditto! No one._ And who will step into the vacancy left at the station? _Why, I will! Who else? I'm no Lily Thomson to be overlooked! I'm Camille Bordey and I'm just the woman for the job._

As Richard passes behind her in the Commissioner's wake, she hears the faintest of sounds escape him. She doesn't see his lips so can't be sure but it sure SOUNDS like 'Ffffuuh…"

She laughs. _Oh, yes, Richard Poole. You are on your way and I'm going to stick to you like glue! Try to scrape me off now! You finally admitted it. You finally realize it. I'm your key, your guide, your partner. Not just in public or on the job but for every aspect of your life. I'm just the woman for THAT job too! Oh, you bet._

"Oui," she breaths happily, watching his stiff back retreat towards a group of serious men who watch his approach with varying degrees of professional interest. Her sharp eyes pick out two men who move back a step or two. _Hmm_.

She gets out her notebook and starts her new job - to be the next DI when a certain happy event takes place.

END


	13. Chapter 13

**S2 E8 – WHAT Was He Thinking?**

Part 1 of 2

Earlier that day

Selwyn Patterson keeps a VERY keen eye on his Chief of Police. Perhaps TOO keen an eye. It is painful to watch Poole try to interact with others at the fundraiser; he insults the servers, he insults the other guests, he even insults the host.

Selwyn sighs. _The man is a walking testament to bad luck and oblivious attention to detail - which was exceedingly ODD when you think about it. Here, the sharpest tool in my crime-fighting kit, a dull spark in real life. How will my plans EVER come to fruition if the man simply can't put one foot in front of the other when out in public? I had such high hopes for him. He was to be my springboard to higher office. What am I to do with him now? My schemes will amount to nothing if…_

Here Selwyn's inner turmoil comes to a full stop. He is now watching the DI interacting with his DS… and this is VERY interesting! The man is obviously appealing for help without realizing it and the woman is giving advice without meaning to. Their actions are highly entertaining and… here's a surprise! Poole has come up with some solution that does NOT amuse her. Even better, she then comes up with something that pleases her but not him! _Oh, and now, if I'm not mistaken, and I seldom AM, they have reached a compromise that they are now planning to put into effect. All they need is someone to practice on and here I am orbiting closer and closer. Ah! He's seen me. He's giving her some sort of instructions. Let's see how this plays out, hmm?_

And it plays out beautifully… if a bit stilted.

Poole is quite good at watching Bordey with his peripheral vision and he doesn't miss a single cue. When Selwyn tests the waters with the comment about the budget, Poole is almost calm in his reaction. When Selwyn prods a bit deeper with the comment about the Police Committee, Bordey's reaction is pure spite but also very astute. Selwyn takes Poole in hand, just to see what he will do… and the man comes almost willingly… but there is almost certainly going to be a vigorous discussion between the two of them when they are somewhere private once more. _Well, that is THEIR problem, not mine. My problem is to find a replacement… and perhaps things aren't as desperate as I'd thought?_

Time will tell.

The discussion with the Police Committee members goes smoothly as soon as Selwyn realizes that Poole is now taking his cues from HIM. _Ah! Of course. Transference. With some coaching and some practice, perhaps the man will earn his stripes in the political arena. It's all very well and good to bang up the criminals but there are many different types of criminals and you have to learn to deal with the hand you are dealt. Either that or learn to reshuffle the deck without anyone noticing. But, one step at a time, and we'll build from there._

"You know, Inspector, politics and crime-fighting are very closely allied," Selwyn says as he takes Poole to the drinks table for refreshment.

"They are? Isn't it all boring meetings and glad-handing and fundraisers?"

"Indeed, no. Nor is it all about the crab and the 'plonk'. Both our areas of expertise involve puzzles and observation. For instance…" and he spends many minutes pointing out certain people and his thoughts on them. Poole is intrigued and begins asking questions of his own about the inner workings of local politics. Selwyn is happy to pass on his knowledge.

When he returns Poole to his DS, he is most intrigued to overhear them talking about two Committee member's reactions to Poole's presence in their circle. _Well, well, well… I've always had my doubts about those two and now my top cops have their eye on them both! This might work out better than I thought. Perhaps I will take a discrete look into their business practices… maybe sic my accountant onto them. That ought to clear the deck and open up new avenues of governance._

All in all, the Commissioner is MOST pleased with this day's work.

The Next Day

When Selwyn places the telephone receiver back into its cradle, he is most thoughtful. _Hmm, SOCA wants a senior officer to escort Vicky Woodward back to England and my first impulse was to offer up Poole. Impulse isn't my usual practice. But, it's the perfect test of the man._

Selwyn settles back into his hydraulically enhanced office chair and laces his hands over his stomach. He cocks his head and studies the wood grain on his desktop. _Yes, yes, perhaps this is the best approach. How do I know the man has switched allegiance from England to Saint-Marie? How do I know the man is ready to dedicate himself to my island? I sense he is waffling. He wants to stay but WILL he? His job is here. His home is here. His friends are here. There is only one thing missing in the man's life but does he realize it? Perhaps a prolonged absence from Saint-Marie will serve multiple purposes. If he returns to England and cannot bring himself to come back then all my questions will be answered._

He stands and begins to pace, hands behind his back, thinking hard. _The man needs to know for certain. He needs to feel the cold rain on his face and see his country again. Hopefully, his concept of satisfaction will have changed enough for him to make a well-informed decision._ He pauses mid-stride. _It will be hard on his team but perhaps THEY need to re-evaluate the situation too. A little shake-up might do them all a bit of good._

He nods to himself._ Yes, it will keep them on their toes and I would like to see how they operate in Poole's absence. Just in case. Just in case I need to find a new Inspector_. Selwyn is a bit surprised to find this thought makes him sad. He shakes his head. _Who would have thought it? A major thorn in my side is now someone I will miss if he leaves. Life certainly has a way to keep you guessing, doesn't it?_

As he reseats himself and begins preparations for his scheme, he smiles. Sometimes it's good to be the spider in the centre of the web. So satisfying. He is positive he is ready for a larger web.

END – part 1


	14. Chapter 14

**S2 E8 – WHAT Was He Thinking?**

Part 2 of 2 

Later That Same Day

Selwyn stands just out of eyesight and listens to the team interact. _This discussion about the Post Office is most enlightening. Poole's interactions are positive. The team seems to be a well-oiled unit, much more tightly knit than before. Perhaps this plan will work out for the best?_ As he glides into their view, he is gratified by their reactions. He likes to think his gravitas will never fail him.

When he takes Poole aside, he is even more gratified at the man's absolute non-response to all the hints about going back to England. When he DOES realize what is being asked of him, Poole's first reaction is to check on Sergeant Bordey. Once the discussion is well under way, the glances to the Sergeant become more urgent and the man does NOT seemed pleased at all at the prospect of returning to his home country. Excellent! More than excellent! Poole's behaviour leads Selwyn to hope that the man's other lack in his life may already be partly solved.

Once the boom is lowered and the deadline is set, Selwyn leaves with speed and once more retreats out of eyesight but not out of earshot. Sergeant Bordey's reaction to Poole's news is the most gratifying of all! So, it is reciprocal then, but their awkward conversation leads him to understand that no personal understanding has been reached between them as yet. He sighs quietly as he turns away and makes for his car. _Typical! Two years together and they STILL haven't declared themselves? What will it take… an act of God?_ As he settles into the back seat, he sighs again. _Let's hope it doesn't come to that!_

A week later, Friday, 4:30 pm

Selwyn knows Poole is on the plane. He'd plucked a strand of silk, so to speak, and the answer had been in the affirmative. _Poole is on his way. Good. One question answered. Now begins the delicate task of maneuvering the man into position for phase II of 'Operation Wedded Bliss'._ _Let's hope he is amenable to the whole idea. Some men just aren't suited to matrimony… such as Officer Myers for example. _Selwyn chuckles to himself. _Dwayne Myers… married! Now THAT would indeed be an act of God! Saint-Marie might fall into the sea… not to mention losing a most effective tourist attraction!_

As soon as he spies Poole, he knows something is wrong. _The man looks apoplectic. Tired, worn out, hot, weary, hungry… and apoplectic. Not a good start._ The reason is soon apparent. _Luggage! Again with the luggage! The man is cursed with bad suitcase luck!_ Selwyn can't help saying, "Perhaps you should stay put this time! No more gallivanting about!" Poole's irate nod and loud agreement is accepted with great relief.

The visit to the lost luggage desk is an almost EXACT replay of dialogue from two years ago except THIS time Poole knows the woman's name and he is quite polite about it. For him. This time he asks her to check that his luggage was actually sent and, if so, where else it could have been sidelined on the way here? He ends the discussion by asking her to please call him after 8 am. Selwyn nods, impressed by the man's forbearance.

The drive back to Honoré is quiet. They pass the time with formal chit chat, something Selwyn doesn't remember Poole doing quite so easily before but, as they near town, a noticeable change comes over the man. He quiets. He tenses up. He begins to fidget. If Selwyn didn't know any better (and he DOES) he would think this man is readying himself for something stressful. However, Poole does NOT request conveyance to his house. He seems eager and reluctant at the same time to go to La Kaz upon Selwyn's assurance that everyone will be awaiting their arrival. "I'm sure you will be warmly welcomed back. Everyone is most pleased you are home," Selwyn rumbles with just the tiniest stress on the last word.

Poole leans forward and almost starts to ask something but he thinks better of it (another first) and just shakes his head, "I'm sure they hardly missed me at all. It will have been a quiet week without me."

Selwyn purses his lips and pontificates, "Never underestimate a quiet week. It makes people think things over; major Life decisions, career choices," he pauses then adds, "partnerships."

Poole's eyes gleam briefly then he shrugs, "Well, I've come to some decisions of my own. I wish now to be assigned permanently here to Saint-Marie. England was a nice place to visit but," he chuffs a laugh, "can you believe it? It was too cold!" He looks out the side window, "And too quiet. I missed…"

"Yes?"

"I missed… my people."

"I see. Well, I can tell you that your people missed you too. Why, I had several good arguments all lined up and had to write them all down in the event of your return." He places a brief hand on Poole's forearm, "I, for one, am pleased you are with us now. I would like to see you in my office at your earliest convenience to discuss your reassignment and your future here on Saint-Marie. I have something that needs a devious mind to help me formulate and you're just the man for the job."

Poole looks slightly alarmed yet a little gratified, "I'm not sure if I should be pleased or worried!" Honoré is coming into view now as the car descends into the little valley. Poole lapses into silence and sits forward, straining towards his future and, Selwyn hopes, his happiness.

As the car pulls up, Selwyn restrains Poole just before the man bursts out of the vehicle, "I would appreciate if you would let me precede you. There is still a question I need an answer to and I think I will ferret it out more quickly if you give me a one-minute head start." Poole frowns but sits back with good grace. As Selwyn steps out, he can't help but smile when he sees the man check his watch. He leans back in to say, "One minute. Then you may enter." He closes the door upon a most perplexed man.

When Selwyn sees their faces upon his solo entrance, and when he sees sergeant Bordey's reaction to the absence of Poole, he has his final answer. Thank goodness. As he launches into his prepared speech, he crosses his fingers because this could get tricky! He spins the moment out for as long as he can. He is VERY certain Poole will enter exactly on time. And here he comes. Right on schedule.

And he IS stroppy and prickly and mad as a hatter but it isn't pique - it's relief, and embarrassment, and a secret joy at being home. The decorations are noted. The teams' happy eyes are noted. Her unshed tears and the catch in her voice are noted. And if Selwyn can see it then HE certainly does! He may be shy and constrained and tightly buttoned-up… but he isn't blind.

Selwyn makes his escape in his most dignified manner, sure at last that Poole and Bordey will reach some sort of agreement this day. As he relaxes into his car once more and tells the driver to take him home, he huffs a breath. _And if there is no agreement THIS day, there will be stern words exchanged upon Poole's keeping our appointed meeting tomorrow._

_Yes, if necessary, I will ORDER the man to marry that lovely French woman as a necessary concession to the transfer of Commissioner-hood in the near future._ He smiles. _Camille will be pleased, I am sure, AND, if I play my cards right, I will never have to pay for another drink at La Kaz!_

He sighs. Life can be good. Despite English men and all their oddities.

END


	15. Chapter 15

**S2 E8 – Sharing**

Part 1 of 2

It is another blazing day with endless paperwork pending and no air circulation at all. The men are out on patrol, there is a lull in the crime rate, and Camille is curled up behind her desk like a big watchful cat. Richard is sneaking sweets from his 'secret' tin in order to stay awake while doing the crossword and enjoying his quiet time. Little does he know how much less 'quiet time' is coming his way.

The opening shot is fired across his bows when he realizes Camille is watching him with a smug smile and a knowing look. He sighs, stands up and brings the tin to her desk. She watches him come with a very satisfied look on her face. _At last! The secret is about to unfold!_ But when he puts the tin down in front of her, she looks in with puzzlement, "What are they?"

"They're Bassett's Jelly Babies and they all have names." He points to each colour, "This is 'Brilliant', he's red strawberry, 'Bubbles' is yellow lemon, 'Baby Bonny' is pink raspberry, 'Bigheart' is purple blackcurrant, 'Bumper' is orange, and 'Boofuls' is green lime."

She looks up in surprise, "Lime? You HATE lime!"

"I don't hate it when it's a gelatine delight rolled in rough sugar," he rumbles. "Do you want to try one?"

"Well, all right but I can't promise I'll like them. I prefer sweets made from local fruits, you know."

"Oh, I know!" he smirks. "I've seen you sampling fruits of the 'chocolate bush' when you think I'm not looking."

She shoots him a hot glance then relaxes in acknowledgement, "Yeah, OK, guilty as charged. Which one do you suggest I try first?"

"Well, 'Boofuls', obviously. It's the only flavour you'll probably recognize."

"Well, in THAT case, I'll try 'Bigheart' as I've never tasted a blackcurrant before."

He fishes out a dark purple almost black morsel and holds it out to her with great care. She raises an eyebrow at him. He bobs his hand and chastises her, "They're VERY hard to come by. I couldn't bear to watch you spit it out into the bin. You get ONE nibble to test it."

She purses her lips and nods, "OK, that makes sense. Here, let me help," and she slips a hand over his and slowly draws the treat to her mouth. Just before she parts her lips, she looks up at him.

He is very still, eyes slightly flared as if he is thinking about something else now.

She flexes her fingertips gently on the back of his hand and his eyes flare a bit wider. _Good_, she thinks, _I finally have his attention. Don't waste this moment, girl! _ With a slow smile she nips the barest slice off and chews thoughtfully. He tries to pull his hand away but she holds him expertly in place, his fingertips almost touching her cheek.

She closes her eyes and savours the taste in her mouth, "Mmm, it's nice, I like it." She opens her eyes and looks intently up at him, "This one is called 'Bigheart', you say?"

He nods stiffly, still trying to remove his hand.

She tightens her grip, pulls him a little nearer, "I think I'd like a little more, if I may?"

Another stiff nod, his lips are parted now, his shoulders tense.

She dips her head once more and brushes his fingertips with her lips as she slowly nibbles it out of his grasp. When it is free, she tucks it into her cheek and continues to nuzzle his fingers.

"What… what…" he stutters low, his hand spasming in hers, fingers flexing open.

"I'm just checking for any loose sugar. I'm sure 'Bigheart' has much more sugar than he shows to the world. I wouldn't want to miss a single morsel." She is nuzzling his palm now, bringing up her other hand to cup his hand to her face. He is no longer trying to pull away. In fact, she is VERY pleased to see his other hand thump down on her desktop as he leans suddenly forward into her space.

"Camille… stop… please stop… the men could return at any time!" he pants low and fast.

"No, they won't. They are on the other side of the island checking out a warehouse that might be the latest source of our smuggling problem." She nips his Mount of Venus then soothes it with kisses.

He stiffens and hisses, "How do you know that?"

"Because I told them to, that's how." She sees he has closed his eyes and twisted his head to rest his chin against one shoulder. _Oh, yeah, I've got his attention, all right_, she thinks gleefully. _If he leans over any further, he's going to fall right into my lap!_ She slips a tongue-tip up his Life Line and he almost DOES fall but he catches himself at the last possible moment and jerks upright.

"Camille, that's enough. I only came over here to offer you a treat and…"

"… and I accepted. Thanks SO MUCH for sharing!" His Life Line is deep. She explores a break about half-way up, probing and tapping most intimately.

"I'M not the treat!" he groans, once more trying to pull his hand back.

She laughs low in her throat, "Sez YOU!" She turns his hand over and kisses the back, sees all the fine hair he sports so quietly, "Mmm, are you fuzzy all over?" she wonders aloud.

"Oh, Christ! Please give me back my hand. I'm asking nicely… as a friend. Please!"

She looks at him for a long moment then releases him.

He snatches his hand up to his chest and cups it there protectively, looking back with relief and, perhaps, a bit of disappointment. As they lock eyes, she scoops the Jelly Baby out from its hiding place and holds it between her incisors to show him. She sees his concentration break completely as she folds her lips over it and gently works her jaw, "Wow, this IS good. My 'Bigheart' has sugar on the inside too. If I'm careful, I can make him last all day!"

It's all he can take. He wrenches his gaze away and heads back to his desk, moving a bit woodenly.

She smiles to herself. She recognizes that walk. She's never seen it on him but she recognizes it. When he sits down shakily, she gives him a moment then stands up. She is very gratified to see his eyes jump to her in focused near-panic. _How close is he to losing it_, she wonders? She picks up his tin from her desktop. _He won't lose it, not here. _She looks back at him, _but I think I broke through his defenses_.

As she approaches, tin in hand, he tucks himself tightly up against the desk, folds his hands in front of himself, and leans firmly forward. The classic stance of the male under siege while in an office. _Oh, yeah_, she thinks, _I broke SOME thing, all right._

End – part 1 of 2


	16. Chapter 16

**S2 E8 – Sharing**

Part 2 of 2

She reaches his right shoulder and leans down casually to lay the tin in front of him. He tightens up and twists slightly away, his face cautious and a bit worried. She drops a hand onto his desktop and props herself at ease, other hand on hip. She chuckles, "Sorry. I couldn't help it. You're so tightly wrapped and you're so much fun to tease. I like it when you're human. I think I've told you that before?"

He attempts a laugh of his own but it is breathy, "Well, there's human and then there's super-human. I'm not made of stone, you know, despite everyone thinking I don't have a heart." He puts the lid back on his tin, turning to stow it back into his top drawer.

While his head is turned away, she ducks down to whisper into his ear. He freezes. _That will teach you to turn your back on a French woman_, she thinks as she murmurs, "Oh, I KNOW you have a heart. In fact, I'm counting on it! I just wish you'd unwind enough to show me a tiny bit of it." She stands back up and he swings around to face her once more. "Any bit of it," she murmurs, "I'm not picky." She reaches down to tap his chest, relishing the firmness she feels beneath his shirt, "This part or this part or even…"

He catches her hand, holds it off the barest inch, blinks, and takes a deep breath, "OK, Camille. I get the message. Now you need to back off and let me think. All I wanted to do was offer you a tr… um… a Jelly Baby. I didn't mean to start something that is going to steamroll right over top of me!"

She gives his hand a squeeze and gently draws her own away, passing it lightly across his chest, over his shoulder, and back to her side. "OK, sorry I jumped the gun... but… I'm French…" He scoffs mightily. She gives him a lidded half-smile, "Yes, ha ha, but the French are not known for their patience in matters of the heart. Will you truly give this important development all the thought it deserves?"

He nods emphatically, "Oh, trust me! I won't be able to think about anything else until I do!"

She smiles small, "Good. I hope you reach a mutually satisfying conclusion. I'm going down to La Kaz now to order us some lunch. If you don't join me within 30 minutes, I'm gonna order up the biggest plate of goggly-eyed things I can think of! If you don't come get it, I'm gonna bring it back here and dump it in your lap. So…"

He nods rapidly, "So I'd better think long and hard! Gotcha. You bet."

She pauses at the door, "Mmm, I like that phrase." She watches him play back his words and then flush a deep manly hue. She laughs, "And I like that colour on you. It suits me just fine. I hope to see a LOT more of it. Very soon." He is now inarticulate with whatever emotion he's feeling and she hopes it has a bit of excitement mixed in with it, whatever it is. Seeing as he won't speak, she nods, "Right, I'm off. Can I leave you with one last thought?"

He covers his eyes and groans, "Oh, please! Feel free! It's not as if my mind isn't churning madly enough already! What is it?"

"Just this, all teasing aside, I'm deadly serious. Don't think this is a prank or I'm bored. You and me, it can happen if you let it. You've trusted me with your professional life for two years now. Isn't it time you trusted me with YOU?" She gives him one last lingering look then strides out into the hot sunshine.

He waits patiently for his heart to settle as he listens to her retreating footsteps. _Such an agreeable sound, I can tell where she is in any situation because I can pick out her tread like a thread of beloved music._ As her sounds fade, his light sweat dries, his breathing slows to normal, and he starts to count.

At exactly 26 ½ minutes, he stands, locks up, and posts the notice by the front door for people to call the station cell number. As he skips lightly down the steps, he smiles. _Let her think I wrestled with this most strenuously_. _She doesn't have to know the truth. She doesn't need to know that I couldn't see my way clear to the solution I so desperately wanted, the solution that gives her to me of her own free will. _

He takes a deep breath of fresh island air and tastes everything as if for the first time. Y_es,_ _the solution that she provided today like a prayer answered. She cut right through the Gordian Knot that I couldn't unravel no matter HOW I tried. What a wonder she is. How did she do it? How does she do anything? Why, in her own way, of course. My ways aren't the only ways. I must remember that. She has her own ways and I can't wait to learn all about them!_

He chuckles to himself. _I mustn't allow myself to be captured TOO easily. After all, a gentleman has to put up SOME resistance! I mustn't let her think she can steamroll me into a romance without my full cooperation!_ His smile widens as he descends the hill exactly 1 ½ minutes away from his destination. _Oh, yes, my little French minx, I trust you. I trust you to make my life interesting from this moment on! There are a lot of dance moves remaining before we bring this situation to a satisfactory end but I think…_

He circles around, taking a different approach in order to surprise her. Within seconds he sees La Kaz coming into view. He carefully schools his face into polite concern with, perhaps, just a hint of eagerness, and slows his pace to that of a man who has made a most important decision and is now coming to meet his fate. … _I think I will enjoy the next few hours MOST heartily! I can't WAIT to see what other pulse-pounding tricks you have up your sleeve! _

He sees her now, sitting outside at the quiet table, watching for him. Catherine hovers in the doorway. He straightens his tie and squares his shoulders. _Showtime! Let's see if one English man can co-exist with two French women_.

Just before he steps into view and the dance begins, he rattles the little tin in his pocket. You never know when you go into battle just what ammunition will be needed and what tokens of surrender may be accepted but he thinks 'Bigheart' will be greeted most enthusiastically.

In fact, he's positive.

END


	17. Chapter 17

**S2 E8 – The Offer**

The young man, a boy really, jitters nervously in front of her. She cocks her head and listens with half an ear. She has a lot on her mind and quite a 'to do' list to get through. Richard will be waiting for her report and she needs to check on the other officers and… _What is this kid wittering on about?_

"Can I take you for a drink?" the boy blurts out.

Her head comes up with a jerk… _what? What?!_

He rushes on, "I know this wicked beach bar!"

She looks at him in dismay. _What on EARTH does this kid think I'm doing - hanging around with cops because I'm bored?_ A traitorous thought surfaces, _Yeah, bored. Is THAT what I'm feeling?_ She squashes the thought. HARD. She can't afford to let this little internal voice talk while she's on the job. It always veers off into forbidden territory and THAT always led to trouble! Her habitual training takes over. She refuses nicely and turns away.

But the kid comes right back at her, eager, puppy-dog, grinning, "Got a boyfriend?"

She can't help but smile at THAT. _Yeah, right. Boyfriend! Had HE ever been just a boy? Even when he WAS just a boy?_ She has a sudden vision of introducing him to people. _Hi, I'm Camille Bordey and THIS is my BOYFRIEND. Say Hi to the nice people, Richard!_ She shudders to think what awful thing would come out of his mouth, something insulting or pedantic. Maybe an explanation of how he is NOT a boy and MOST definitely not her friend! _Yeah, I can see THAT date going well_, she scoffs.

She explains the facts of life to the young man and he STILL chases after her, hopeful of hooking up later! She chuffs a scoffing laugh. She has to give him credit. With his long silky hair, ready smile, easy ways, and green green eyes (_sigh_), he probably hasn't had too many failures with women.

Young women.

Girls.

But this time he is reaching wwwaaaaay above himself.

Camille Bordey is no longer interested in ordinary men.

_Oh, kid_, she sighs as she finally leaves him behind, _you don't know what you're trying to get yourself into with me! Romance isn't just drinks and dancing and kisses in the moonlight! Maybe it is when you're young. REAL young. Maybe it is before Life kicks the s#!^ out of your heart a few times, before things get complicated beyond all understanding, tangled in knots, and totally the dark side of the moon._

Nevertheless, the mere thought of the boy's offer makes her smile and puts a little extra bounce in her step. She's almost forgotten how wonderful it feels to have such power over men, to have a nice man (even one so young) show such interest. It's been a LONG time. Rather a drought, really. It feels good. She smiles once more, putting a little strut in her walk.

As she approaches Fidel at the truck, she scoffs to herself, And_ whatever you do, do NOT fall in love with someone so impossible and wonderful and infuriating and alluring and… _but that's as far as she gets before the job takes over and she is a DS again. She gets through the day as best she can.

It is later that night when her feet are up and she is indulging in some chilled white wine that she lets herself think it over. Something about this case bothers her. A woman loves a man then finds out he isn't the man she thought he was. He keeps secrets. He does bad things... even crazy things! And the woman has to deal with the fallout. It's so unfair! She wonders about Richard. Hah! She is ALWAYS wondering about Richard! No, but seriously, she wonders about Richard.

Could she co-exist with him for even a day… let alone a week… a month… a year? Sometimes he is SO damn aggravating that it is all she can do to hold in the hot torrents of French invective! Those are the times she excuses herself and escapes out into the normal world, to ordinary people with ordinary lives in ordinary homes.

That's what she needs as an antidote to Richard Poole. And would it always work or would the day come when she just has to throttle him in self defense? She can see herself now, standing before the Court and telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth…_Yes, yer Honour! I just HAD to kill him! It was the only way to keep my sanity but now I'll go insane without him! Someone, please shoot me and put me out of my misery!_

She shifts in her chair, thinking hard. _Maybe if we live apart? Some couples do. Sort of a life-long date? That might work. Would he agree to it? Would he even notice? And I would want to be exclusive. Oh, yes! No sharing! Her Poole and no one else's! For THAT, I'd have to keep a very close eye on him. Not that I'm jealous. No, never that. Nor insecure! It's just that… just that… Well, OK! I don't trust him to know the difference between 'drinks' and 'DRINKS'! Nudge nudge wink wink say no more say no more! _

She shakes her head, comes out of her funk, sets down her empty glass, and gets ready for bed. THIS is why she can't think about things like this on the job. Next thing she knows she is channeling British comedians and spouting complete gibberish! _Oh, Richard, I'm losing my mind over you_, she scoffs then sighs, _and it feels SO good!_

It is the next day, when she is helping to load not one, not two, but THREE perps in the back of the Defender that she finds herself saying, "I shoulda taken him up on his offer of drinks when I had the chance." She is VERY gratified to see Richard's head snap around. She gives him an innocent look.

"What's that, Sergeant?" he says through stiff lips.

She shrugs, lifts her eyebrows, "Oh, nothing. It's just that he asked me out for drinks yesterday and…"

His frosty glare baffles her, "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Why? Why!" He is swelling inside his suit like a toad in a microwave oven, "Because protocol is VERY explicit about interaction with suspects, witnesses, and sundry! How DARE you even enter-TAIN the idea of meeting that young man for drinks!"

Fidel and Dwayne step smartly away from the truck, out of range and earshot. They roll their eyes to one another. _God! Do they have to fight EVERY day?_

Richard catches her by the elbow… and none too gently either… and marches her away from the truck with barely a modicum of manners. He looks madder than she's ever seen him.

When he releases her she wheels on him in fury, "How dare you accuse ME of misconduct? Might I remind you of a certain blue-eyed damsel in distress that totally turned YOUR head a year ago? Do I need to remind you of a more recent certain yellow bikini? Hmm?"

He went white as a sheet, his lips thinned down to a line, "Don't you DARE…"

She puts her hands on her hips and throws her head up and laughs, "Oh, YES? You can dish it out but you can't take it, hey? A nice young man… well, an accessory to murder but I didn't know that at the time, did I… a nice young man asks me out and I'M the bad guy?"

His eyes are blazing, "Yes, you ARE! You know better! You ARE better! You can't just…"

"I can't just what?" Her arms are crossed and she is thrumming with anger.

His anger seems to dissipate suddenly, "You can't just squander yourself on the undeserving. He's MUCH too young for you… and an idiot. The only thing he has going for him is…" His rapidly quietening voice peters out and she can't hear the rest of his words.

"His what? Speak up!"

Richard jerks and says low, "His… his… vitality."

She nods hugely and scoffs, "Oh, his vitality. You mean his sexual vitality, don't you?"

Now he looks ambushed, "No! Well, maybe, I don't know. How did we get onto THIS topic? I only wanted to remind you of your professional mien."

"My 'mien' is ALWAYS professional. I don't need YOU to tell me anything! And he's only 7 years younger than me! That's almost the same age difference between me and YOU. If those ten years don't bother me…" her anger snuffs out, "… why do they bother you?" she whispers.

His head snaps up, "What? What did you say?"

They lock eyes once more. He begins to take a step back but she catches his wrist and holds him, "All I'm saying is that age doesn't enter into it if two people are perfectly matched in manner and outlook and all the other ways we are so well suited."

He licks his lips, "Well suited? You think we… we are well suited?"

She nods, "Yes, I do. Don't you?" She lets his hand go.

He looks down at his wrist as if expecting to see a brand on his skin, "Well… I… I never really…" He takes a deep breath and looks back up to her, determined to be stoic in the face of threatening danger, "I never let myself think about such things. It's not allowed and so I must never…"

She crosses her arms and says quietly, "Not allowed by whom? It happens all the time. Cops can't mix easily with ordinary people. You know that. We ALL know that. Cops need other cops. Fidel has Juliet but there will be problems down the road for them, most likely." She steps closer and lowers her voice, "And, in the meantime, we each try to snatch whatever joy we can find, even if it's with an adolescent beach-bum with green eyes to die for."

HIS green eyes leap to her face in silent question. She smiles small, "Mmm-hmm, the green eyes are a real draw but I'm sure I'd be bored to tears within minutes unless he's hiding a scholar's mind somewhere under all that hair." Before he can think of a reply she leans in once more, "A big brain is SO sexy, don't you think?"

This time he does have something to say, "Not as sexy as being a dangerous beast and French and totally unpredictable!" He stutters in anger that somehow sounds like relief… and a question.

She regards him in surprise, "Oh? And who might THAT be?"

He actually stamps a foot, "YOU! You, Camille! How can you be so cruel? Dangling that boy in front of me as a threat then stabbing me through the heart so unexpectedly? I'm not trained to cope with this! I only know how to catch killers and solve puzzles and…"

She lays a hand on his trembling arm, "… and you are a VERY smart man! You can figure it out. You can learn and adapt and be the man I know you can be. If you try. If you want to, that is. "

Now they merely stand and look at one another, seeing each other in perhaps a different light. She isn't sure he will rise to her challenge… but she forgets who she is dealing with.

His lips part, "I do want to," he breathes before marching past her and going back to the truck.

She is left to whirl around and watch him walk away.

He climbs into the passenger's seat and simply sits and looks out the front window screen at her. He seems to be thinking furiously about something but he never takes his eyes off her.

She cocks her head to one side, looks back, and waits.

Finally, he beckons to her and smiles slightly.

Good enough for her! She goes to the truck. She leans on the open truck window beside him and whispers, "Are we gonna talk about this?"

His eyes flash to the mirror and he checks on the prisoners before looking back up to her, "Not now and perhaps not for many hours to come… but we WILL talk."

Very low, she purrs, "Promise?"

Very low, he growls, "Promise."

She stands up with alacrity, spins and strides to the driver's side of the truck, clapping her hands and calling to Dwayne and Fidel, "Come on, officers! Chop chop! Daylight's a'wasting and we have work to do!" She leaps behind the wheel and revs the engine hard, earning her a thoughtful look from the suit.

The men grin in relief and come on the run to pile into the middle seats. As they roll down the driveway, Dwayne leans forward over the Chief's seat back and says low, "So today's fight is over, is it?"

"Yes, Dwayne, it's over," the Chief assures him quietly. "We've reached a temporary truce and all will be well. All manner of things will be well."

"That's Shakespeare, isn't it?" Fidel asks, always alert to whatever his boss says.

The Chief shakes his head once, looking out his window, "Nope, Julian of Norwich, paraphrased, but The Bard had many other interesting sayings that could cover this situation as well."

"Oh?" Camille can't help saying, "Did he have anything to say about star-crossed lovers?"

Richard finally looks right at her, "Oh, indeed. Perhaps later, I'll recite some things for you."

She looks back out her window, concentrating on the road, and shivers. Somehow, she never thought she would ever look forward to a poetry recital. Looking back at him, catching his eye, seeing the sharp curl of lip exposing one canine, she is suddenly VERY eager to hear whatever he has to say.

Very eager indeed.

END


	18. Chapter 18

**another M-ish tale, mind how you go**

**S2 E8 – La Manche**

Part 1 of 4

As he snatches the report out of her hand so rudely, something about the set of his mouth, or some look in his eye finally, unexpectedly, unpredictably, pushes her over the edge. She feels the soft implosion of a barrier inside her head as it gives way and her pique morphs into full-blown anger. She hadn't even realized how close to the edge she was - but there you have it. Her. The edge. Pushed over. Pow.

She pauses for a brief moment, wondering at the sudden wave of heat that washes over her. _Why now_? _Why here… and why now? He's just being his usual stroppy self… and I've always shrugged it off before… so… why do I feel like I've crossed a line and there's no going back? Why do I feel like I'm falling? Why does it feel so good? Like relief? Like permission? Like freedom? Like a dare?_

As she thinks this, she is further surprised by the fact that her body is standing up. It is going around her desk and marching right up to him as he reads the report. When he looks up in question at her approach, something on HER face, or in HER eyes, makes him back up in a hurry. His feet stutter on the floor as he backs up, raising the report like a barrier.

_But that's ridiculous! It's just paper! Paper isn't going to stop me. Not THIS time! But, stop what_? _What in the world is happening here? _But herself isn't answering. Instead, she sees her hands come up, grab the report out of his grasp, and toss it over her shoulder. His astonished eyes follow its fluttery flight until her hands come down onto his shoulders. His eyes snap back to meet hers and…

… and then she has his frozen, undivided, absolutely riveted attention.

_His attention_, she marvels. _Finally! He's looking right at me and I think maybe he's seeing me VERY clearly for the first time in a long time. But what does he see? It's like watching TV in an unknown language with no way of knowing what will happen next. _Once again, she wishes she could get inside his head to figure him out, find the chink, the linchpin, the secret code word that would open his mind (and heart) to her so that she could free him from his self-imposed prison. All she needs is the key.

"Camille? What in the world are you…?" is all he manages to say before her lips are moving.

"It's called La Manche. Do you hear me? LA MANCHE!" she shouts, her fingers digging in hard. Thank goodness for the suit! She can barely make out his body's firmness through all the fabric so maybe no bruises but he surely deserves them!

"What is?" he whispers, his lips barely moving.

"The English Channel! It's La Manche!" she growls right into his face.

"But you just called it the English Channel yourself. Just now." His voice is rising, not quite into 'rant mode' yet but it's getting close. He's decided to take umbrage with her tone and he's going to challenge her, go all bossy on her! Suddenly, she wonders if this is a fall-back distraction move. _Distraction? To distract me? Distract me from what?_

"Don't you DARE lose your temper with me!" she all but roars, "I'm in NO MOOD for your childish temper tantrums right now! I'm French! I have a whole language and culture and geography and cuisine and EVERYTHING! We call it 'La Manche' because that's what it IS!" She is holding him in place and jabbing him with a stiff finger right over his heart. _I hope it hurts!_

His mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out. He couldn't look more gob-smacked if he tried. His eyes are wide and green and alarmed. His brow is furrowed and his lips are slightly parted as if he can't quite catch his breath. In short, he is a man under siege without a single weapon at his disposal.

Her memory flashes on an almost identical situation from more than a year ago… her stabbing a mad finger into his chest as she told him a few hard truths about himself. _He had this exact same flabbergasted look on his face… and it still feels SO GOOD! _ She dags him once more, just to drive the point home, "La Manche! Got it?" _Ow, now my finger hurts._

As she steps back and puts her hands on her hips in supreme annoyance, he gives her a sorrowful 'wtf' look, rubs his offended shirt-front, and murmurs, "All right, La Manche, it is. Got it. No need to get so physical."

Her cooling temper flares up white-hot once more and she lifts outraged eyes to his suddenly wary ones, "Physical? PHYSICAL? You call THIS physical?! Let me tell you something, Inspector! This isn't physical! Do you remember that moment by the spa pool? THAT was ALMOST physical! Care to test your luck and keep goading me today?"

He shakes his head slowly, never taking his eyes off her. He looks almost hypnotized, "No-oh, oh, no, definitely not. I think the aural is quite enough, thank you."

She gives him a hot blank look, a double-barreled shotgun look that makes him gulp, "The WHAT?"

He tries to back away further but there is no place for him to go unless he wants to climb over his own desk… and he doesn't… not really_. _His mind is racing._ It's so exciting when she gets like this! I never know what she'll say or do next. Come to that, I never know what I'LL say or do next. It's like a dance where nobody knows the steps, in the dark, at the edge of a cliff. SO exciting_. _Anything could happen._

He takes a deep calming breath and holds up his hands in a soothing gesture, "The aural, the sound, you know? All this shouting and grinding of teeth? Think you can dial it back a bit, maybe to a level 5, or even a 4? Otherwise, the neighbours will think we're actually fighting in here!"

She feels all the hair on her head stand on end. _The nerve of the man!_ "Fighting?! You call THIS fighting? This is nothing! We're not fighting until crockery is breaking and the police are called!"

Now he feels himself getting huffy, "The police? Must I remind you that WE'RE the police? What am I to do? Lock you up then lock myself up too? That is SO totally childish! So TOTALLY Fr…"

Her fist is right in front of his nose, straining against the temptation to punch him so hard! His eyes practically cross to focus on it as she hisses, "DON'T! Don't you SAY IT!"

He zips his lips and pulls his chin in, leaning back onto his desk in a futile attempt to avoid her body heat. He turns his head just a fraction and closes his eyes. _What a rush! Her voice, her nearness, her vitality!_ He wonders if he can keep control THIS time. Each time is a trial. Each time is a test. _Will this time be THE time I stumble? Will I finally crack and reveal my terrible secret?_ As he turns back to face her, he wonders and he hopes. "Say what?" he asks in as calm a voice as he can.

She leans in closer, her voice a gravelly hiss, "You know very WELL what! You were about to say I am so totally French, weren't you? Admit it! Be a man and admit it!" She practically spits the words at him.

This gets his ire up. Oh, you bet!

He straightens up quickly, so quickly that they actually bump into each other and she has to step back, which angers her all the more, but he doesn't care about THAT! _She has disparaged my entire sex! The nerve!_ "Now, see here!" he barks, "My being a man doesn't enter into it! I'm NOT wrong. Whenever I'm wrong, I admit it! I've always been very forthcoming in admitting my mistakes!"

She crosses her arms and scoffs loudly, eyes flashing, "Oh?! Oh, yes? Like when?"

"Well, let's see now. Let me think." He makes a big production of putting a forbearing hand to his forehead, "Um, give me a moment, I'm sure something will come to me." She is just swelling up in outright umbrage when he snaps his fingers and says smugly, "The Anderson Case." She is just starting to nod and make reluctant agreement when he adds, "Of course, I was totally right the whole time but I WILL admit that I took a tiny misstep mid-case."

Now it is HER turn to look flabbergasted. "What?" she whispers, hands falling to her sides in surprise.

He crosses his arms in absolute surety, "I was totally right! I knew he did it and I proved it! What does it matter if I was off-track for a moment or two? I was correct in the end and that's all that counts."

Her hands come up once more but don't stop at her chin or even her forehead. Her fingers clutch at her hair as she jerks upright in total moral indignation. "OH MY GOD!" she bugles. "NOW I know why they call it the English Channel!" she all but screams.

He quirks polite eyebrows, lips pressed together primly, that tiny dimple just flirting with existence.

"It's a WARNING!" she bellows, taking a step away from this mad man! "It's a warning for people not to cross because there are ENGLISH on the other side!"

Silence falls as they regard each other in complete bafflement, at a total stand-off and temporarily out of ammunition. But, of course, his words swarm up unbidden and he can't help but say, "And that is also childish and totally Fr…" but that's as far as he gets once more.

Verbally.

During the brief silence between them, she has had a most powerful insight. _This argument! This argument is about nothing. NOTHING! So… why am I arguing? And… why am I enjoying it SO DAMN MUCH? _ Looking at him, she sees his eyes, his fascinating eyes. Drinking him in, she sees his mouth, his fascinating mouth. Swooning, she sees his sharp chin and his firm jawline and the tiny silky hairs of his sideburns and eyebrows and eyelashes and she…

_Omigod! I'm leaning in! No, not just leaning. I'm lunging!_ He's trying to say something but she doesn't hear it. His lips are moving and the delicate fluctuations and flutters of his tongue totally steal her mind and she is kissing him… _kissing him…_ _oh, mon dieu, his mouth…_

He jerks in her grasp, caught totally unawares. Good thing he's plastered up against his desk otherwise… _otherwise I would have gone right over backwards - and wouldn't THAT be a truly romantic Richard Poole move to end all moves?_

But, oh, god, he IS wedged between a hard desk and a soft woman! And, for once in his life, when it really REALLY counted, Richard Poole makes the RIGHT move!

End – part 1


	19. Chapter 19

Part 2 of 4

Richard Poole now realizes he has a quandary. Somehow, she has managed to capture his crossed arms between them and he is suddenly VERY conscious that her breasts must be pressed most cruelly. _I certainly don't want THAT, now do I? No-oh!_ He bends forward to keep the kiss going as he repositions himself into a more Camille-friendly configuration. Once unfolded, he sweeps her up into a tight embrace and revels in the firm docking of their bodies.

For once, his body speaks up before his stunned mind kicks in to spoils things, _Oh, yes! This is more like it! To hell with the fight! _She is straining against him like she's trying to burrow beneath his suit. With a flash of heated realization, he intuits this is EXACTLY what she's trying to do! He catches her hands, folds them behind her back then leans onto his desk again, but not in retreat. Not this time. In strategic warfare. Use your attacker's weakness against them to lead them right into a trap!

Camille gasps as she is drawn up off her feet to be held spread full-length along his torso. She fights for a moment before she catches on… then her knees come up and she grips his thighs powerfully, pushing herself up to strengthen their kiss.

He jerks again in surprise. He's never been climbed before! Her thighs are like iron, velvet-coated iron, and he can't escape their grasp. As she surges up his torso, he feels every last vestige of civility leave him. He also realizes that this fight isn't over! It's just changed direction. As he releases her hands and grips her rock-hard bottom, he vows this is a fight he will win! He shifts her a bit higher so she is almost at eye-level with him although neither of them has opened their eyes yet.

She is crazy with lust. He's so firm and solid and he smells so good and he tastes so good and even his sounds are good. _Listen to me_, she thinks wildly as she wraps her arms around his shoulders and buries her hands in his hair, _calling him 'good' when he's so incredibly INCREDIBLE! Who knew he was capable of such moves? He's never given the least clue as to his skills… and now I'm getting a crash course in Richard Poole that I won't EVER forget!_

He is thinking (almost thinking) the same thing, plus, _I've always accused her of being French without ever really thinking about what that means. Does it mean this? That she's a total fox and a man-eater and voracious and…? Oh, I hope so! I really do!_ His heart leaps in his chest just thinking (almost thinking) about it. Will he survive her actual feasting upon him? His resolve hardens as he vows to keep up with her no matter WHAT happens. _I'm an Englishman. I WILL carry on… or die trying._

She has somehow scrambled up to rest both knees atop his desk and now she is slightly above him, bearing down on him, holding his face in tight capture, tongue plundering his mouth and splintering his control with hot electric jolts that surge out of his oral cavity and into his body. _Christ_, he groans, _I'm overcome and we're still on our first kiss! I'm a goner! There's NO WAY I'll be able to keep this up! Besides, as soon as she lets go of my mouth, I'm going to say something totally stupid to ruin the mood and then she will just kill me and be done with it. _

She DOES let go of his mouth but he doesn't say anything stupid. He doesn't say anything at all. He hasn't the breath. They both gasp in life-giving oxygen then lunge back to the attack.

He can't move her. She's wedged tight as a tick and he DOES want to move her. He wants to be pressed firmly into her saddle so he lifts her suddenly and the kiss is broken again. She gives a high squeal of… what? Frustration? Anger? Surprise? He doesn't care. He spins quickly and now SHE is on his desktop.

Her knees come up. She wraps her thighs around his hips. A fragmented thought streaks through his pounding head, there and gone again. _She must be double-jointed_. Now her arms cross over his back, her hands clamping onto his shoulders like traps. Now he leans down onto her, using his height and weight to his advantage, hands buried in her hair. _Later_, he thinks, _much later, I will comb this beautiful hair until it glistens. I will lose myself in this midnight mass of curls. I want to fall asleep with her hair on my shoulder and spread across my chest and perhaps even… _

His normal decency tries very hard to stop his next thought but it's no match for what's roaring through his blood right now and, so, the thought comes anyway. He desperately shakes his head to dispel it and despairs. _I'm going to spoil it! Despite everything, I'm going to spoil it!_

_Ssshhh, _the air seems to whisper, _you're not going to spoil anything. Keep quiet and follow her lead. _

He stills. _Who IS that? Not her! Not me! Who? _She feels his sudden shift in concentration and stills against him. They still together and pant in concert. They both open their eyes at the same moment and see each other only scant inches away.

His eyes flare in panic and he knows this is the turning point. _This is ALWAYS where I go wrong! This is the EXACT moment when the woman realizes what a mistake she has made. I say or do something completely imbecilic and…_

_Shhh_, air gusts in his ear, _smile, kiss the tip of her nose. _ He doesn't know what else to do so he does. Her eyes flare. She takes a deep breath and she opens her mouth to speak. _Here it comes_, he thinks sadly. _Thanks for trying to help, voice, but this is where the shit hits the fan and I'm sent packing and…_

His abject defeat is interrupted however, much to his surprise. She ISN'T giving him the old heave-ho. She… she is… she is moving his hands… pulling them down out of her hair and placing them very firmly elsewhere… all the while pulling him tightly into herself.

His body, which had taken the hint of his chagrined thoughts, roars back into life with a burst of testosterone that almost makes him faint.

Her eyes slip shut again and she leans her head way back, showing him her delicate throat where he can see her pulse throbbing away like sixty! She whispers, "Oh, Richard! Is that ALL for me?"

_What a question! How to answer without sounding like a total dim?_ He takes a chance on the little voice being right and just nods. He tries to nod manfully but it just doesn't happen.

Somehow, he doesn't know how or why, his shyness doesn't put her off. If anything, she seems very pleased! She makes a little bleating sound… tender… loving… like the sound someone makes when picking up a little bird. She cups his face and coos, "Oh, chéri! Don't be shy! Not with me." Then she rears back and gives him a long slow look of consideration.

He feels his blush rise like fire but instead of deterring her, she seems to LIKE it! She brushes her fingertips across his flaming cheeks then kisses him softly, so softly, and muses, "But… maybe I LIKE the shy? Yes, I think I do! I think I like it a LOT!" She kisses him again and he feels his hesitation sooth.

He pulls back just enough to let some cool air into the super-heated envelope of oxygen-depleted atmosphere around them and shakes his head. He doesn't WANT to shake his head but he's doing it nonetheless! _What is WRONG with me?_ _Voice! Where are you? Help!_

_Relax_, comes the whisper, _she knows what's what. _He takes a little breath and tries to calm himself.

She hitches in a shuddery breath too, and to his total consternation, releases him, lowers her feet to the floor, and stands under her own power. But she doesn't push him so far off that his excited state isn't still pressed against her. She hums, "Mmmm, I like this. I like it a lot. And you're right, we can't do this here." She kisses him once more then steps away, dropping her hands to stroke him as if making sure she isn't imagining his attributes then removes her hands completely and he is once more all alone by himself in the world.

This sense of loss must have shown in his eyes because she laughs in delight and slips a hand beneath his tie, gives him a little tug, "Oh, you don't have to say it! I know, I know. Will you come to my place? It's closer. Or do you want to go to your place? It's more private." At his quirked eyebrow, she colours a bit, "Personally, I'd prefer YOUR place. This isn't going to be a quiet episode and I'd rather not have noise complaints called in. We'd never hear the end of it from Dwayne."

Now he is frozen in surprise. _MY place? Really?_ _Voice_, _where are you! Don't leave me now!_

It doesn't. _Not to worry, why don't you drive and let her get frisky beside you? I'm sure she'd like that! You still have that wine chilling at home, right? The same Rioja that's been waiting forever? Tonight's the night to pop that cork. Lock up and take her home. Now._

She rides the whole way with her head on his shoulder and her hands beneath his jacket. As he parks, she murmurs, "I'm a bit surprised by your silence. This isn't like you at all. Normally you're all stuttery and tongue-tied, but not tonight. You're very sure of yourself, aren't you? But not sure enough to stop being shy. What a puzzle you are. And do you know something?" She leans in to give him one last truck kiss, "I've come to love puzzles too and I think I have a BIG ONE to solve tonight." She slips to his door as he gets out, turns him to face her, and wraps herself around him once more.

And that's how he carries her to his house, up the steps, through the doors, and to his bed.

END – part 2


	20. Chapter 20

Part 3 of 4

They slowly undress one another. When they are ready, he steps in to embrace her but she puts a hand to his chest and stops him. _Wait for it_, the words drift through his mind as his smile falters. HER smile is totally wanton. "Didn't we start this at your desk?" she purrs.

He nods jerkily, confused as she leads him away from the bed! _What is she…?_ Then he realizes they are approaching his home desk. _Oh my god! No way! She can't POSSIBLY…?_ But she does. She most certainly does! As her arms twine about him, as she pulls him down into a suffocating kiss, he is helpless to do anything but what she asks.

And she asks a LOT!

He loses all sense of himself. He's just a bundle of nerve endings that jangle and dance like wind chimes before a hurricane. He can hear her calling his name, saying the most outrageous things! Later, when he is himself again, and if she can remember, he wants to hear all these things again! Maybe a bit quieter with less panting and moaning but, yes, he most definitely wants to hear them again!

But that's for later. Right now, something monstrous is rearing up like a tidal wave over his head. It is huge and ponderous and powerful and it is almost here! The sweet ecstasy icing his body is coming harder and faster now, sharpening. He holds onto her for dear life. He bites her trapezius just in time.

The wave hits. He is blasted sideways into someplace else. He tumbles, smashing on the rocks for a long time before the wave gentles, recedes, and leaves him stranded on a new beach to explore, uncharted territory as it were. And he's not alone. He walks this beach with another person. He can feel her in his arms, shivering and panting. Sound is coming back to him. Now he can hear her erratic breathing, her stuttered gasps. Now he can smell her, shampoo and sweat and something else. It must be Essence of Woman because it is making him drunk!

He dips his head to press his brow into her shoulder, a long perplexed sigh escaping him. _What now? How do I tell her? How do I say it?_ Silence. It isn't until her fingers brush his cheek that he realizes he is crying. He tries to hide his face but she is very strong and he is forced to look into her eyes. "Please, Camille…" he starts to say then stalls. _How do you tell someone you love them? How do you tell someone they mean everything in the whole wide world to you? How do you tell them they are your very life's breath and you can't possibly go on living without them? How?_

_Ssshhhh, _the air breathes around him.

She uncoils, slides down to align herself with him, chuckles. Before he can beg her to PLEASE not laugh at him, she gives herself a little shake that rocks him to his bones and whispers, "Oh, you darling man! I've NEVER felt anything like it! AND you're still up for more! You are a wonder!"

He is a bit surprised to discover that she is correct. He IS up for more. He frowns slightly and takes stock. His heart is slowing down. His skin is cooling and drying. His… well… his body is… um. And her! Her skin feels so silky smooth and she looks so delicious and… He ducks his head, dying to start a slightly different dance when a thought intrudes. He pauses, perturbed at being interrupted, her breasts want his attention._ That suspended chair? Why am I thinking about that bloody uncomfortable thing? I never use it… _A sudden image of himself in the chair with Camille atop, leaning in, flashes like a comet across his inner mindscape and he almost chokes on his excitement. _Oh… right… OH!… RIGHT! _

She chuckles in his arms as he eases out onto the veranda and that useless hammock chair comes into view. As he settles into it and pulls her down snug atop him, as he sighs happily, as he hears her new noises and learns a new form of aerodynamics, as his mind races ahead to delirious raptures to come, he thinks he sees a faint outline. Just a faint man-shaped shimmer, there then gone, but he can't spare another thought about it for he suddenly has a raging forest fire on his hands!

Whatever little bit of mind he has regained is blasted to shards when she… _oh, god, what is she DOING to me? Oh. Oh! It's a race! That's what it is! First one over the finish line loses because the runner-up will keep going! And I'm pretty sure I know who the loser is gonna be here! Not me! _And he isn't! He works her flesh and lets it wash over him… the flood… the fire… the rush... the caterwauling. He closes his eyes, holds her tight, and goes away for quite a while.

When he rouses, his overheated body reacts to the light breeze off the sea. He's only warm where Camille touches him and she touches him everywhere that matters. He shifts a bit, brushes her hair away and whispers, "Are you awake? Are you chilly? Do you want to go inside and out of this breeze?"

She moves like a drugged thing upon him, her words slurred, "If we go insi', will y' do it a'gn?"

He takes stock, does the math, considers, and goes for broke, "Maybe. Probably. Most likely. Yes."

She gives a breathy laugh, "Carry me."

He grins, brushes his lips across her cheek. She moans and tightens her arms around him. "Gladly," he says as he stands up, somehow not tipping them onto the veranda deck. She settles in his embrace like a sleepy puppy and nips his neck with a sigh.

He almost drops her, "Oh! You little vixen! Don't you know your manners yet?" He carries her through the doors, easing them shut with his heel. She shakes her head against his shoulder and bites him again!

He squeezes her tight, "Ouch! That's enough of that, Missy! Do it again and I'll…"

She does it again, harder, chuffing laughter, "You'll what?"

"Why, I'll simply have to put you to bed," he says and he eases her down. As she avidly watches him, he closes up his house, shutting out the world. He goes down into the kitchen to rummage about then comes back up lighting a small candle and sets it down in a saucer at his bedside. He stands for a while, looking down at her before she makes it known that she desires his company. He settles gingerly down beside her. He takes a few moments to fold his arm beneath his head and suddenly finds himself looking into her eyes at very close range without a single clue what to say.

_OK, NOW is when I say something to spoil it_, he thinks then rallies. His inner voice said to ask her if he isn't sure. The voice hasn't been wrong yet. "Um, sorry to be so clueless but… what do we do now?"

She smiles in smug satisfaction, "We do what we're doing right now! We admire each other, tell each other how wonderful we are, say all the little embarrassing things that we would never say in the daylight, and wait." She can't seem to get enough of running her fingers through his pectoral thatch.

He IS admiring her but now he has a question, "What are we waiting for?" _Her hair is so silky!_ He brushes it against his shoulder, his neck, his cheek, his lips. It makes him shiver.

"Do you like that?" she asks unnecessarily. She can see his response but she wants to hear his voice.

"Yes," he quavers, feeling goosebumps rush across his skin, "Oh, yes, your hair has always fascinated me. Earlier tonight I wondered…" He stops in sudden shyness. _I can't actually SAY it, can I?_

She struggles to rise up. When he makes to help her, she lays a firm hand flat on his chest and presses him back into his pillows, "No, let me, I'm tired but not THAT tired." As she dips her head and begins stroking him with her hair, she answers his question, "We wait for our strength to return, for our bodies to stop clanging. I don't know about YOU but I'm frazzled to the core. I think I bit my tongue. Am I bleeding?" She raises her face and extends a sleek tongue-tip.

He inspects it, finally giving it a chaste kiss, "No, it is inviolate and perfect. Just like you. Please go back to doing that hair thing. It's wonderful. You're wonderful. Everything about tonight is wonderful."

She does so, brushing her midnight mass of curls slowly down his throat then across his chest, "I'm not inviolate, Richard, sorry. I wish I was. For you. But I'm glad you think I'm perfect."

He groans and writhes in slow motion as her tresses burn cold fire against his skin, "Oh, yeah, that's grand! That's most unholy. That's sssoooo…" His voice fades in awe.

"Perhaps… a little lower?" she whispers, smiling, already knowing.

END – part 3


	21. Chapter 21

Part 4 of 4

His breath chokes in his throat. She thrills to hear it. Somehow she just knew this would catch his attention. "Oh, Camille, I can't ask…"he stutters in hopeful dread, "I mean, if you WANT to then…"

She mumbles against his ribs, "Then you won't stop me?" She doesn't wait for an answer. She already knows. She can feel his excited anguish thrumming up and down his body.

She tortures him for a long time. She's never made a man wait like this before and it is heavenly! The power! The sheer pleasure of making him wait! And he DOES wait. That's the wonder of it. It never occurs to him to rush her or force her. _The last man that tried to make me do something I didn't want to do may never be a father but that's not MY problem! THIS man is something else altogether. THIS man is new and thrilling and it's Richard. My Richard! Finally and at last!_ She smiles in utter contentment.

_Oh, this is so exciting, _they both think (almost think) just before maneuvers get under way!

Things got a little hazy after that.

Later, resting once more upon his shoulder, she drawls, "We were made for each other, obviously."

"So it would seem," he hums, hesitates, says low, "I never thought I would ever say this… or even THINK it… but… are we done? Please, don't take this the wrong way but…"

She pouts and stresses her accent, "Ou! You are done with me? So soon? But you are so strong, so desirable. I want you now more than ever! Please, please, please, don't throw me out the door!"

He laughs self-consciously, "OK, OK, enough sarcasm. Play nice. Aren't you tired at all? Lord have mercy, please tell me we're done for the night."

"Well, we're done for NOW. I don't know about the whole night. Let's wait and see, hmm?" She snuggles against him. She never realized before how nice it is to actually snuggle up against someone you really really want to snuggle with!

He groans, "Oh, Christ, I'm a dead man." Nevertheless, he is snuggling right back.

She kisses his flushed cheek, "Non, you are my live man, properly captured and tamed at last."

"Oh, I am that! I've been broken to the saddle, as it were." He seems to find this very amusing.

She is slightly affronted, "Don't be rude, Richard! Are you calling me a ride? An amusement?"

"God, no!" he blurts out. "That's not what I meant at all! I didn't mean to offend you. It was just something I thought to myself earlier today. I'll shut up now."

"No, don't. You have different words from mine. What is this 'saddle' that you refer to then?" She yawns mightily, trying to stay awake.

He dares to slip a hand down her body, cups her most intimately, "I think you know."

She smiles, "Ah! Oui, I DO know. And I predict you are going to learn quite a bit of French over the next few weeks. Feel free to use some of it on me, if you like." Her eyelids flutter. She's fading fast.

"How will I know I can? Certain terms apply only to the masculine or feminine, as you well know."

"Time for a French/English dictionary, I think," she murmurs, sleep stealing over her like glue.

"You mean an English/French dictionary, I believe," he murmurs back, feeling her actually falling asleep in his arms. Somehow she is condensing, getting heavier, sinking. He rustles her just a little bit closer to his heart and breathes in her scent, THEIR combined scent now, and sighs happily.

"Non," she whispers, "I mean…" and then she is gone.

He holds her in the dark and marvels and hopes and despairs and rejoices and worries and… the thoughts come. _Relax, man. Take a cue from her and get some sleep. She will be awake within 3 hours and you will have another emergency on your hands._

He starts, surprised to suddenly hear the voice once more, this voice that doesn't sound exactly like his own inner voice, not quite. It's close. Similar, but not quite. _Who ARE you_?_ WHAT are you? Where were you all those years I struggled and tried and was rejected and hurt? Why didn't you help me then?_

_Because, mate, none of them were Camille._

Richard has absolutely no comeback to this because it is true. _None of them, not a single solitary ONE of them, came even close! How could they? She'd been waiting here… in this place… at this time. And now I'm here, in this place, and this time. With her. We're both here together and joined at last._

_Well,_ he grouses a bit, _you might have given me a hint, something to tide me over all those lonely empty years of waiting. If I'd only KNOWN!_

_Uh-huh! And if you'd known, you wouldn't have suffered and grown and learned what you needed to learn in order to earn her. Think about THAT, little Rich._

He stills utterly in shock. When his heart starts up again, he is almost too afraid to think. _Little Rich! No one calls me that. Not for over 30 years! No one except…_

_Mmm-hmm, _the voice sounds a bit smug, _there are many ways to travel and other planes of existence. It's just chance that I was asleep and my mind drifted to childhood memories. But it's time for me to wake up now, I have to get back to my 'gang'. There's major trouble afoot here in California and I'm needed. Goodbye, Richard, I'm glad you found someone. I'll keep you both in my thoughts…_

He lies awake for a long time, remembering another life when he was much smaller, defenseless, terrified, and abandoned. He remembers the person who took him under his wing and protected him and molded him. _Did he actually set me up? Send me out into the world so that I'd end up HERE? That's ludicrous! Ru was just a boy who took pity on a poor waif that was sure to have the beejeezus pounded out of him on a daily basis. Besides, he ate all my puddings! I never got a single one!_

Sleep is beating on the back of his eyelids now. He takes one last look at his beloved snoring gently beside him, hair now a tangle that is going to need SO MUCH combing in the morning, _Oh, yes!_ He settles himself against her, _so warm, so sleek, so Camille…_ and closes his eyes.

He will think about all this tomorrow. _Yes, tomorrow. Tonight is over. Dusted and done. I hope. _

_Maybe I'll try to find Ru. There are records. I'm a good detective. I'm SURE to find him then I'll have an amusing little anecdote (strongly redacted!) to tell._ He drifts down and down and… he is gone.

A soft breeze wafts in through all the little nooks and crannies. It gently rearranges her hair to curl around his face to tickle his lips until he smiles then leaves as a deep devoted silence falls at last.

The silence of destined lovers found and a life begun.

END

**As to Ru's identity, this is revealed in 'The Loa' series which has yet to be released.**


	22. Chapter 22

**S2 E8 – One Of These Days…**

It is just after the arrest. The DS comes back into the red room where her DI is all alone. She glances around. This area of the house is empty. Everyone is busy elsewhere. She reckons she has maybe ten minutes and she knows she has to make these ten minutes count! She watches him putter away, packing his briefcase, calm and cool and collected now that he has done his duty and caught the killer(s).

She snorts… _time to move in, girl!_

She glides up to his left side and he looks up at her. She smiles and murmurs, "You were magnificent today. I am so proud of you. Those three didn't see it coming. They almost never do, do they?"

He huffs with satisfaction, "Well, no, they don't… and that's rather the point. The sudden shock of the reveal usually knocks the pins out from under them and they are caught off guard. I get more confessions that way." He pauses in his packing up, "Although, Aidan Miles saw it coming. Clever man, that, a very cool customer." He smiles and resumes his chore.

Camille begins her stealthy approach, "You. So smart. So clever. So controlled." She flips his tie with a finger and it does a little jig between them. "So immaculate in that suit."

He catches it and smooths it down once more, "Well, thank you for that, Camille. I like to think I'm impressive when cornering my quarry. I feel the most alive in that moment."

"Mmm-hmm, is that right? And do you know what else, Detective?" she purrs for his ears alone.

He isn't really paying attention as he snaps the clasp on his case, "What's that?"

She leans in. He sees this and automatically leans in too. She lowers her voice even further, "One of these days… one day very soon… you will SO magnificent and masterly and masculine…"

His eyes flare and he tries to straighten up but her hand snakes out and grabs his tie right below the knot. Now their eyes are only inches apart and she is diving deep into her Poole, "You will be all these things and…" She gives him a quick once-over, "Did I mention immaculate?"

This last word is enunciated very carefully. He nods, drops his eyes, tries to give a man-of-the-world shrug but her next words rivet his attention back onto her face.

"… that I will no longer be able to contain myself and I'm gonna…" She half-closes her eyes, half-pouts, and tips her chin up ever so slightly. She seems lost in her thoughts.

His eyes are now the bright green of a stag caught in the headlights of a Canadian logging truck barreling out of the night on a mountainside hairpin turn at 110 miles an hour. He is suddenly very light-headed. His confidence over his crime-fighting skills wavers as he feels the ground shift beneath him. His alarmed gaze takes her in. She has somehow taken this conversation into foreign territory, into a battle ground where he has no confidence at ALL. He tries twice to speak, "Wh… what… ?"

She tilts her head and puts an ear near his lips, "Hmm? What's that?"

Her perfume envelops him. Her hair lashes his face like whips and scorpions. The back of the hand holding his tie gently slides up and down against his shirt. He realizes that she is waiting for him to make sense and he has the uncomfortable feeling that she is willing to stand here stroking him until he DOES make sense. He shuts his eyes and strangles out just six words, "What are you going to do?"

She frowns a very French moue and draws her shoulders up in glee as she coos right into his ear, "Oooo, I'm just gonna have to follow my instincts. You know, storm the ramparts, take no prisoners, leave no witnesses… THAT sorta thing."

He pauses for a fraught disbelieving moment then hitches in a breath, dithers just the tiniest bit, and decides to take the bull by the horns, "Erm… does ANY of that result in my death? Or… do I somehow magically survive this complete defenestration?" He shifts a bit. Something must be bothering him.

"You got a problem there, Detective Inspector?" she smirks while running a saucy finger down his arm and onto his hand. She can hear the other officers talking nearby. She has only moments left with him in this suddenly charged and totally satisfactory situation.

He stills and regards her intently, "No, no problem, at least not one that I haven't had to manage a few times over the years… but… but I don't think I actually WANT to manage it anymore. Perhaps it's time…" His eyes flare up once more but now they step back from each other as Fidel and Dwayne enter the room. She quirks an eyebrow. He takes a calming breath and finishes, "… perhaps it's time I try a different approach."

She nods and smiles, "Yes, maybe it IS time. High time. May I come by your place later? To get the conversation underway? I think we have certain things to tell each other, don't we?"

He nods, smooths down his slightly askew tie and she can see the mantle of 'boss-hood' settling over him once more. If not for that brief moment of almost candidness, she would never suspect a thing. Her eyes dart to the other officers… as THEY obviously don't suspect a thing!

His eyes follow hers and when she looks back, he nods ever so faintly, "Yes, tonight… if nothing desperate happens in the meantime."

But… of course… something desperate DOES happen.

He is on a plane and off the island within hours.

No happy ending here…

END

**end note: Hah! Just wait.**


	23. Chapter 23

**S2 E8 - Character Growth**

"Sir, do you think people keep growing up? In their minds, I mean?"

Richard regards Fidel over his teacup rim before setting it down succinctly with a click, "How do you mean? Growing how? Do you allude to learning or maturing?"

"Um," Fidel looks to Camille who shrugs. "Well, I'm not sure exactly. Juliet mentioned something the other day that kind of bothered me and I've been thinking about it ever since."

Richard held up a warding hand, "Ah, ah, Fidel, don't tell me something involving your wife that you will later regret. I've seen too many cherished friendships fail over shared confidences during rocky patches in a relationship."

Fidel smiles proudly at the words 'cherished friendships' but shakes his head, "No, nothing like that, sir. She says I'm not the man she married, not quite, not anymore. She says I'm too serious and not as much fun as I was. It worries me."

"Oh," Richard crosses his arms and gives him a chummy look, "then it is definitely both." At Fidel's puzzled look, he explains, "You are both learning AND maturing, as an officer and as a man, AND, hopefully, as a husband. Juliet should be proud of you. I know I am."

Dwayne nods, "Proud, yes, aye! We see things as cops that ordinary people never see, don't want to see. We know things nobody wants to think about. You can't go through some of our cases and not have it affect you somehow."

Richard nods, "Well put, Dwayne. We see the curdled milk of human kindness and it changes a person."

"You bet," Dwayne mutters. "Take me, for instance, I used to be a wild child before I settled down."

This draws blank looks from everyone and a loud ladylike snort from behind the bar. Dwayne rounds on Catherine, "Not EVERY thing you hear in here is true, you know!"

Catherine scoffs, "Non, I don't believe HALF of it because I know the truth is even more awful than the stories! Oh, the things I've heard!"

Dwayne slumps. "Ha, ha, very funny." He pouts for a few moments then says to his table mates, "But bein' a cop DOES change you. You have to keep it separate somehow, not take it home with you."

Richard sighs, "It's called 'compartmentalization'. You must learn to shut things away and only bring them out when you need to. It takes discipline…"

"… or booze," Dwayne adds.

Richard gives him the eye, "Hmm, yes, too many officers use alternative methods in order to cope. I have to say that I am MOST happy that none of you have stooped so low." Here he gives Dwayne another look, "THAT'S called 'transference' and it doesn't solve the problem."

Dwayne laughs, "Oh, I like that word, Chief. That's what I do. I have a few drinks then I transfer myself onto beautiful young women who seem to find me endlessly fascinatin'." He looks pleased with himself.

Richard sits up straight, "Well, yes, that's one method. There are others."

Camille suddenly speaks up. She's been studying Richard for several minutes now and certain questions have been circling in her mind. "How do YOU do it? I know you compartmentalize because you never talk about your past except when it relates directly to the case at hand. You must have so many dreadful memories tucked away."

He sighs, "I do. It's the curse of an eidetic mind. I sometimes wish I COULD forget but then I might not see a seemingly random fact and make the connection. It's a fine line."

Camille murmurs, "Do you have nightmares?" He looks sadly at her. "I mean, it might explain why you are so… so tightly wound, sometimes, you know?"

He nods, "Yes, bad ones, but I've learned to overcome the effects with certain mental and physical techniques that promote peace of mind. I sometimes wonder if my life wouldn't have been happier if I'd gone into academia instead of law enforcement."

She smiles briefly, "Better for you, maybe, bad for the rest of us." She chuffs a quiet laugh, "Professor Poole, class is in session." She drifts off into private thought that she seems to find most pleasant.

Fidel leans in, distracting Richard from watching Camille smile to herself, "Yes, Chief, bad for us. Who else is going to teach me everything I need to know in order to be the Chief in turn? You HAVE to stay sane so you can pass on all your tricks to me. I'd like to hear more about those techniques when you have time." The Chief nods and Fidel sits back feeling a lot better already.

Dwayne has been watching a table of young people, noisy and boisterous, and SO young! He turns back to his team, "Do you think we really keep growin'? Are any of us ever really grown up at all?"

Richard thinks a moment, "Good question. It depends on your capabilities, I think. That and…"

"And what?" Camille asks.

"The drive to better yourself. Most people seem to reach a point where they are satisfied and they stop. Maybe it's curiosity. Maybe it's restlessness. I don't know. I only know what drives ME."

"And what's that, Chief?" Fidel asks, taking mental notes.

"To be a better person. To learn from past mistakes. To trust in people who have proven themselves to be trust-worthy. To take chances that I never would have last year." Here he darts a quick glance to Camille, "Or even yesterday." He subsides into silence as if something has just popped into his head then mutters, "But can you be too abrupt? Can you veer too suddenly into unknown waters? Can you map uncharted territory without losing yourself? Will people allow you some new twists and turns that you've never shown before?"

"Whoa, Chief, those questions are WAY above my pay grade," Dwayne laughs. "If you figure any of that out will you explain it to me in small words?"

"Yes," Fidel agrees, "me, too!" He stands. "Thanks for the pep talk. I won't worry about changing. I'll just learn to leave my work at work."

The Chief sits up, returning to the conversation, "But remember to bring a little bit of your home to work. It helps. A LOT. Sometimes I wish I could bring Harry with me to the station. He's quite good company, in a totally non-mammalian kind of way."

Fidel nods and bids them good night. Several minutes later, Dwayne stands and does the same. Now it is just Camille and Richard left at the table.

She smiles, "THIS is a first! You outlasted them both. What's wrong? Aren't you feeling crowded and seeking the solace of your monk's cell?"

He frowns and places a hand quite close to hers on the table top, "About that, I've been thinking about what was said here at the table tonight. A person has to keep growing if they want to keep growing." She shakes her head at him. "I mean, you can't stay the same person, can you? That would be like… like being a character in a book. No matter how many times you read the story nothing changes except your perception of the story. The character can't change one word or deed. It is the READER that changes."

She nods slowly, "Hmm, isn't that the definition of insanity? Reading something over and over again and expecting it to change?"

He chuffs scholarly, "Something like that, yes." He is silent for several moments. She watches him think. He takes a sudden breath, "Camille?"

"Yes?"

"I need to say something to you. I don't know how you'll take it. All this talk about growing and taking chances and trusting other people has made me wonder…"

"Wonder what?"

He looks deep into her eyes then down at their hands so close upon the table top. She can feel his body heat very faintly. Her own body heat flashes into white-hot incandescence. Her eyes widen. _Why do I suddenly feel so excited? This is Richard. Good old dependable clueless Richard. He's not going to…_

…but he does. He does something totally out of character! He leans in very cautiously and breathes in her scent right at her shoulder as she freezes in place. He sits back, sighs, "Mmm. That's good."

She shivers, "What is?"

He gives her an inscrutable look then murmurs, "Lean in. Smell me."

"What?" she quavers.

"Smell me. Please." She does so in a herky-jerky fashion, not quite believing what's happening. She takes a deep breath, her eyes slip closed, and she is carried away. His voice shocks her back to herself, "That's pheromones. I wonder how far they can drift before we can't pick up on them anymore? That would be a fascinating experiment."

She conquers the shivers by sheer force of will, "What would?"

His eyes flash and he smiles, "How far we can be from each other yet still react to one another."

She gulps, time to speak the truth, "Oh, well, I can only speak for myself but…"

He whispers with dreadful hope, "…but?"

She gathers her courage in both hands and says, "You being in England wasn't far enough."

He freezes, his face pales, then flushes, then pales again before he manages to say, "Funny you should say that. My being in England wasn't far enough for me, either."

She hears the raw want in his voice and decides to cut to the chase, "We're in the same room right now. Together. Pretty close."

"Mmm-hmm, which leads me back to my earlier statement, I have something I need to say to you and I'm going to say it come hell or high water. I only hope you will take it in the best possible manner."

She blinks, "If it's what I HOPE it is, I'm gonna take it every way possible. Also come hell or high water."

He blinks back, "Oh, well, maybe I don't have to say anything after all?"

They lapse into silence, two people sitting at a table in a crowded room, a bubble of silent expectation in a sea of noise.

Their moment is upon them – and the silence spins out.

END


	24. Chapter 24

**S2 E8 - The Goodbye**

It was Dwayne's big-brotherly man-hug on the station veranda earlier that day that prompts Fidel to do the crazy thing that he does. He actually HUGS his boss!

Fidel would never have dared such an intimate move except Dwayne's hug had helped him so much, given him confidence and comfort and support. It had supplied a much needed shot of positive reinforcement in a time of personal misery and uncertainty. Fidel had felt buoyed and appreciated. It had helped a lot. _How does Dwayne know to do these things?_

Now he wants to share it with his boss.

He senses his boss' unhappiness. Somehow, the Chief is upset. But why? Who knows? The man has moaned and complained and carped about getting back to England (but not lately) - and now here he is getting his wish on a silver platter - and somehow the man is not happy.

And so, the sudden urge to hug the Chief washes over Fidel at the taxi and he steps in and he does it.

His boss' sudden rigidity does not go unnoticed. For a split second, Fidel fears he has crossed a line that he should never have even approached. But then there is a minute lessening of rigor, a nod, a quick pat on the arm, and Fidel knows that the Chief knows. The Chief accepts. The Chief is comforted. Fidel almost whispers, "Come back to us," but clamps his lips on this at the last second in confusion. As he steps back from the man, he sees the pleased embarrassment and is content. He wanted to give positive reinforcement and he did.

Mission accomplished.

Richard's wretchedness cannot be expressed but it can be compounded, it seems!

Just as he is beginning to calm down from that inexplicable scene with Camille on his veranda, Fidel steps in and sweeps him up in a man-hug! Richard's brain almost explodes. _This whole situation is so ridiculous! Home! I'm going home. I'm finally going home at last... and I'm miserable! Why? Why can't I speak? Why can't I just smile and nod and turn away? Why do my eyes burn and my throat ache? __This hug! It goes on too long. Like Fidel is saying goodbye forever. Everyone's words say one thing. Everyone's actions say another. It all seems so final. Goodbye forever. The big send off. A funeral._

This hug! His first-ever man-hug that didn't happen on the athletic field and it feels so strange. Strange but wonderful. He almost hugs Fidel back. He almost sinks his face into the young man's shoulder and almost whispers, "I'm coming back to you. To you all." But he doesn't. Razor blades in his throat.

_How have these people come to mean so much to me? How have I come to love them so deeply? _

Yes, love. Just as his shocked mind is trying to come to grips with this, Camille steps in.

Her kiss is a mere buss, her hug a mere pat. His entire soul surges towards her like the tide to a full moon yet he stands like an inert object. Like the stone he's always tried to be. Like the inanimate object she's always accused him of being. He longs with his whole heart for her kiss and embrace to last forever. Forever. Not a moment. But a moment is all he gets, a moment so fleeting that it is over before he even knows it has started.

As she steps back, her heat and warmth and energy whisk away and he feels like he's dying. He wonders if it's all he deserves. He's been such a fool; he feels it, he sees it, he grieves it. It roars through his body and mind like a brush-fire fanned by a hurricane – and he simply cannot accept it! _Cannot. WILL not. Shall not!_ His heart swells mightily then deflates in confusion as he realizes that he simply doesn't know what to do about it, about any of it.

So, he reaches deep down into his stunted bag of defense mechanisms and pushes a big button marked 'autopilot' which turns him and gets him into the taxi. He calls something inane out the window to these loved ones and congratulates himself on keeping the eternal stiff upper lip of the mask that hurts like it is too tight but is still doing its job. His heart is protected once more. Protected yet yearning.

And, so, he glances back at his team just to wave a jaunty little 'ta ta' and he sees her face one last time. Desperate. Forlorn. Forsaken. Famished. Something wonderful is leaving her life and she is powerless to stop it. Tears stand in dark mysterious eyes as she stares after him.

For just an instant, and for the first time ever, he can read her like a book. She simply doesn't know what to do about any of this either. She's as lost as he is. For the first time in their entire partnership, they are on the exact same page and on the exact same word.

_**!STAY!**_

He almost jumps out of the taxi.

END

**this is a lost story that I just rediscovered. Weird how it fits so neatly into the story-line that is now rushing to completion here**


	25. Chapter 25

**S2 E8 – You Won't Come Back, Will You?**

Part 1 of 2

The ride to his beach from La Kaz is a bit manic. He needs to pack for his unexpected trip back to London with the prisoner and the entire team has piled into the Defender in order to help get him to the airport on time. Dwayne and Fidel are laughing and congratulating him on his little impromptu vacation, urging him to enjoy every frosty sleety shivery moment, the beer in his snug, the big plate of proper fish 'n chips, etc. etc. etc. but Richard finds he cannot enter into their festive attitude.

Despite this being his EXACT wish for so long… he isn't happy.

He's not sure when this fondest wish stopped being his fondest wish. But it has. It hasn't been his fondest wish for some time now. He's not sure WHEN it stopped but it HAS stopped and he's not happy. The reason for this sits quietly behind him, emanating huge flashes of some strong emotion that he can feel searing into the back of his neck but that he cannot interpret without her help.

And he can't ask her for help, now can he? Not with an audience. So there is complete silence from the Camille network. She looks out the side window the whole way and doesn't utter a single word. Not one word. Not even in code. Not even the slightest hint of a clue of a guess as to WHY she is so silent.

Finally, just to have something to say, he tells his team that he has every confidence in them to run the station superbly in his absence. He stutters a bit when he tells Camille she will be in charge. The men chatter on, Camille continues her mute impression of a stone, and Richard ratchets up another notch .

Somehow, when Richard gets out of the truck, only Camille accompanies him and that's only because Dwayne and Fidel practically shove her out of the truck after him. "We'll stay here, Chief, and wait for your taxi," Dwayne says, "Yell if you need help with your luggage."

Fidel laughs, "Well, it should only be an overnight bag, right, sir? How much will you need until Friday?"

Richard gulps and nods and strides away like he means it. Camille follows like a sad shadow up onto his veranda then stalls and just looks out to sea. Richard watches her from over his shoulder for long moments. Words jostle haphazardly all over his frontal cortex and create such a traffic jam that his tongue is frozen. As she continues to ignore him, he turns dejectedly and goes inside to begin packing.

He stands uncertainly in the middle of his so-called living room, suddenly thirsty, suddenly too hot. He charges down into his kitchen and pulls out his last two beers, relishing the cool wave of air that rolls out into his face. He takes a deep breath, tries to calm himself then takes the beers out to her with a fake grin. He pops the tops and hands her one, sets his down, then rushes back inside to wrestle his suitcase out of the wardrobe and throw it onto his bed. He begins tossing things into it willy-nilly, anything to cover up the roaring silence beating in from his veranda.

Camille can hear him. He's packing, excited, almost gleeful. She darts quick glances over her shoulder and watches him doing this most domestic of chores. It is unexpectedly personal and private; his precise sure motions, seeing articles of clothing for the first time. She can't watch any more. It hurts too much.

A minute later, he wheels out a monstrous suitcase, nattering on about the current temperature in London and his fridge while he piles his briefcase atop the suitcase, his motions jerky. She simply cannot help herself! She bites her lip but the words fly out without permission at his retreating back, "But you WILL be back on Friday?!" Her teeth click shut but too late. The plea hangs in the air, twisting.

From inside, she hears his reply, "Yeah, that's the plan." He charges out to mound up a trench-coat (of all things) on top of his growing pile, "Of course, things might change. Not saying they will… but… you know… being HERE wasn't really the plan, was it?" He slaps his pile of luggage with jolly hilarity.

The sound makes Camille flinch and she looks out to sea once more, searching the horizon for help.

He chuffs a sad laugh, "Not exactly. It just sort of happened." The silence is killing him. He charges back inside once more.

Camille's eyes dart from east to west, west to east. She can't think of anything to say in reply.

He comes back out, folding up a sweater, "One minute I was in Croydon and the next…" He sees the look on her face and stumbles, "I mean, not that I haven't loved it, you know." He holds up the sweater like a shield, "I have," he stutters quietly, gestures aimlessly with the sweater. "And you… and…"

She blinks and takes a shuddery breath, hearing something, something almost spoken aloud. She straightens quickly as if expecting more. So much more. _Say it, Richard! Please say it!_

But he quails at the last moment, frowns, licks his lips, looks down at his hands, "Well, ALL of you. You know, the gang…" Now his silence spins out and she waits in vain.

Her shoulders slump minutely. Her hopeful eyes drop in disappointment then she looks back up at him in sorrowful surety, watching him kneading that sweater into submission. He finally lays it atop his pile and pats it as if apologizing.

"I've loved every minute of it," he says quietly, hopelessly, without the slightest clue how to end this torture. "Well, maybe not EVERY minute. You know, in the main." He tries to be upbeat and it must have worked because she gives him a small smile. It's enough to allow him one last dash back inside to grab up his cell phone, passport, wallet, ten pence holder, and mobile sewing kit.

He emerges one last time, nodding to himself, "Anyway, it's only until Friday. No need for big goodbyes." And by that he means he really wants a kiss! _Yes, a kiss! AND a hug!_ But how to convey that? He has no idea. None at all. So he improvises. English style.

'English style' obviously translates into total clueless floundering about with your eyes closed and hoping for some miracle to save you from absolute destruction. Either that or _deus ex machina_. Failing that, burning an offering and praying on his knees for mercy. _What can I say? What can I…? _An idea pops into his head, "Oh! Actually I will need someone to look after Harry!" he chirps with false cheer.

End – part 1


	26. Chapter 26

**S2 E8 – You Won't Come Back, Will You?**

Part 2 of 2

She takes a half-step towards him in utter certainty that he's said something else. Her ears catch up her brain and she falters, "Harry?"

"Yeah, my lizard…" he falters on his own as he watches her downcast eyes, "Well, I had to give him a name, didn't I? I couldn't just keep calling him Lizard."

She rallies, tries to put a brave face on it, props a hand on her hip, and listens to him blather on about feeding Harry. _Mangoes. And mashed bugs._ Now he's waving a mango in her face. She snatches it, slams it down, trying her best to keep her temper and her tears in check. Oh, and NOW he's taken the beer from her hand and is gulping it down, all the time shooting worried little glances at her as if he expects another arm-lock any second. She can't take any more. She's been skirting around the only question that matters and he's never going to answer if she doesn't just blurt it out. She has to say it. Ask it. She HAS to know. She turns away, grips the veranda railing, "You won't come back, will you?"

She doesn't see his face as he halts in surprise but she hears his pathetic fake response, "Well, yeah. Of course I will." Any fainter and she wouldn't have heard him at all. _Yeah, Detective, real convincing!_

She also doesn't see the building horror on his face and in his eyes at her next words as he slowly turns to look at the beach, the sky, the ocean, his dear little house, and finally back to Camille herself who is rocking imperceptibly as she struggles to get the words out. "No, you won't. You'll get home, it will be cold and raining…" She sees movement in her peripheral vision. Dwayne and Fidel are coming to see what's taking so long. Her time with him here on his veranda is almost at an end.

Forever.

"… and you'll have a pint of beer in your pub and… uh…" she leans on the railing, squeezing it until it creaks, "… and you'll want to… stay there." The last two words almost choke her but she spits them out regardless. _After all, you can't show weakness to the enemy, now can you? Non, you cannot._

Unseen by her, he is becoming as upset as she is. _Leave the island? Leave the best team I've ever had the privilege to work with? Leave my friends? The Commissioner needs me. Fidel and Dwayne need me._ A tap. He looks down, Harry's tiny cool fist on the back of his hand. He smiles. _Even Harry needs me._ His chest swells with a deep breath. _Yes, I am needed here. Who else can possibly fulfill all the insane details that are now my lot? Sometimes it is over-whelming but I accepted my fate months ago. I CAN do it. I WILL do it. As long as I have…I have…_

He can't think it, won't think. It's like a lump of poison that he's walled up to protect himself, like a deep dark dirty secret he must deny even having. _It's not true! It can't be true! It's the impossible dream! Give it up, man, and concentrate on getting the job done… the job… the job…_

… _**Camille…**_

Her name wafts like ambrosial smoke through his mind and he all but swoons. Her name unlocks the gates of his self-imposed prison cell and now the floodgates cannot hold back the torrent.

With dawning wonder he looks at her back. _She is the key! The key to everything! In order to keep this life, the life I want so badly, I have to have HER. I need her! Not on my side but AT my side. Not as my second-in-command but as my life's companion. As my… my wife. _His knees tremble at this thought. It is followed immediately by another thought that actually makes him feel faint. He has to brace himself to keep from falling to those shaky knees. _As my wife and mother (hopefully) of any children I manage to sneak past her guard._ A sudden vision of pairs of intense green eyes looking up at him with sharp intent roots him to the spot and he sails away into an impossible future.

When she turns back at his silence, he is simply standing there, a dreamy look on his face. She snaps her fingers, "Hello, Earth to Richard. Did you hear anything I just said?" _Figures,_ she thinks_, I pour out my heart and he's standing there dreaming about England. Oh, go! Go home, Richard! You're killing me! Go away and let me die in peace._

He starts, blinks, looks at her, "Um, yes, I certainly did. Thank you for presenting the case so eloquently. I can only repeat… I am coming back. Can I go now? Soonest begun, soonest done." As she precedes him to the taxi, he thinks, _I know what I have to do now. I have one week to come up with a cunning plan, a fool-proof plan, a truly miraculous plan to convince this fiery independent woman to marry me. _

Seeing the anguished hopeless anger on her face when he gets into his ride, he gulps. _I hope I survive the attempt._

As the taxi bears him away, he suddenly feel her fleeting kiss, the quick hug, even the two back slaps that she'd snuck past HIS guard while he'd been wool-gathering. He collapses in a boneless heap and then almost lunges for the door, almost leaps from the car, almost, almost, almost runs back to her.

But he doesn't_. Too many witnesses. Too much to explain. Too much to say. Too much risk of her ripping my arm off and beating me with it. Just too much of everything. Best if I stick to my original plan._ He sinks back into his seat and groans. _Yes, my plan! My plan to woo and wed Camille Bordey! That plan. Oh, god, help me, I need a plan! Come on, brain! I need a plan!_

His time away from her stretches infinitely into the future with no relief in sight.

It all passes as if in a nightmare, a cold drizzly over-crowded grey dreary heartless nightmare. Nowhere is there golden sun, white beaches, lilac skies, deep velvety nights, gentle zephyrs, music everywhere, friendly people, fragrant air you can drink down into your soul. Nowhere. Also, nowhere are there warm loving eyes, gentle hands, smooth arms, rampant tresses that need taming, and a fiery soul that could drink him down like a cool tropical libation she can set alight and watch burn all night.

That last thought keeps him up every single night WAY past his bedtime.

And, every morning, he awakes with the same desperate thought. _Friday! FRIDAY! Will Friday never come? _But, it does. Of course, it does. With no plan in the offing, none a'tall, as Dwayne would say. Not even a hint of an idea of a germ of a guess at a plan. He is in knots. He hasn't slept. He hasn't eaten. He hasn't done anything except gyre in tightening circles of desperation as his time ticks down to days, then hours, then minutes, then to nothing at all.

_I'm on the plane. I'm going home. I'm going home and I haven't a hope in hell of any happiness at all, do I? Of course, I don't. I'm English. I'm English and I'm doomed._

He hangs his head and despairs all the way back to Saint-Marie, his heart rabbiting in his chest.

Paradise and Camille; heaven or hell, angel or demon, life or death, sometimes it's a fine line.

END


	27. Chapter 27

**an unexpected sequel to 'You Won't Come Back, Will You?' I've never had 2 stories written months apart that stitched up so seamlessly. Must be beginner's luck. Or a neural loop.**

**S2 E8 – Harry Dances**

Part 1 of 2

He wakes up on his side, facing east, roused by dawn's first light. Even this softest of lights makes his head hurt. _But it isn't all that bad_, he thinks, _considering how much I had to drink the night before_.

Stretching lazily, he winces as his lower back twinges unexpectedly. _That's odd_, he thinks, _I must have slept crooked. Oh, well, I might do with a stroll along the beach later, MY beach, with perhaps a few stretches to loosen up in the shade of the palm trees._

His shoulders seem tight too but nothing can dispel the happiness as he opens his eyes to greet his first rosy morning as a permanent resident of Saint-Marie.

Home. Saint-Marie. Today, this morning, the idea doesn't seem shocking at all. Not like the death-sentence of two years ago. Not like the deliberate subterfuge of one year ago. Not like the curious anxious half-dream of even the past few months. No, he is where he belongs and where he wants to be.

He shudders and closes his eyes in dreadful remembrance of his week in London just finished. _Finished? Is that the right word? No, it isn't. Try endured! Try spitted and roasted over an open fire of doubt and fear! I needed a plan. I had a whole week to come up with a plan; a simple, sure-fire, easy-peasy, you-betcha plan. Annddd… nothing, nada, zippola, crickets, dead air. There's still time_, he consoles himself. _I only got back yesterday. Maybe I'll spend the day walking my beach and planning my plan._

He smiles, flexing out his tender back. His whole day is booked now, just the way he likes it.

Then he frowns to remember how he'd left in such a rush a week ago. How it had felt like the basest betrayal and abandonment of his home island… _and I don't mean England!_ How he'd left so much unsaid and undone… _I could have written her a note if I'd had the time_. How he'd left alone… _the prisoner didn't count_. Well, his brilliant plan (pending) will make up for all that! He hadn't wanted to go at all but had been forced by circumstance and duty!

He scoffs quietly, folding an arm beneath his thumping head. _Just like I was forced to come here in the first place, yeah? I remember how angry and spurned I felt. What an idiot I was not to realize I'd been given my salvation. Maybe not on that first day so long ago… but the truth should have hit me sooner than it did. I shouldn't have had to wait until a week ago to realize I was in love._

Now he smiles again, sighing, his eyes ticking back and forth beneath his eyelids as he lets this impossible fact wash over him. It feels like gentle spring rain come to soften the earth from its cold winter sleep, to heal and awake and draw new life forth where all had lain frozen and dead. It feels wonderful! Scary as hell but still wonderful!

All he needs is that plan.

What a week it had been, too, his forced absence. He recollects the flight away (passed in a daze), the hotel (something with a bed), the visit to his parents (OK but it killed him to not mention her name), his old snug (a shocking disappointment), the court appearance (BORE-ing) etc. etc. etc.

He'd been SO LONESOME! In a city of roughly eight million people, he'd been all alone. His old life had been exposed for what it truly was; grey and drear and empty! So empty he could hear ringing echoes everywhere. No matter how many people there were in his vicinity, there'd been no air, no light, no music, no perfume, no colour, no laughter. He had stood outside in the freezing rain and sleet and HATED every second of it because, mostly, there were no teasing dark eyes helping him to cope!

He missed her. He missed her so dreadfully that it had taken him several days to admit it.

_It was only for one week! How can you possibly hurt so much from just one week's absence? Well, you can hurt pretty badly it turns out. But now I'm back. I'm back home and now I have to face my dilemma. I have my whole life before me and I have to settle my future._

_All I have to do is solve one… major… problem. Just one. Easy-peasy, right? Um. What's the plan?!_

He shifts, tries to find a more comfortable position. _Really, why does my back throb so? What did I do yesterday that would account for it?_ He searches his clearing memory, recalling images of his home-coming; the excited team, the smiling Commissioner, the banner, the balloons, the party. _Ah, the party! I had not expected to see such happiness in their eyes._ He knew then that he had made the right choice. _These are my REAL people. Finally. _

He cannot recall hurting his lower back. He shakes his head. _It will come back to me. Sooner or later, everything comes back to me. It is both my curse and my secret power. Anyway, I shouldn't be wasting time on memories. I'm back home and I'm ready to start my life._ _Only one thing can ruin it now._

He groans. _Just one thing. I have to be very careful. Much thought and planning is needed to further my future. This could be the trickiest puzzle I've ever tried to solve. I'd better get up and start my day, beginning with that walk along the beach!_

Just as he is tensing to lever himself out of bed, he hears a tiny clatter, very close.

He opens his eyes again to a most astounding sight.

Harry is on the bannister only inches away - and he is dancing. Well, either that or having some sort of seizure. Whatever, it is astounding to watch. Harry's back is arched, his tail swung forward and quivering. He lifts one front foot then the other, a slow two-step interspersed with dignified head-bobs then a completely unexpected and spectacular scarlet chin-flap arches out like a sail catching the wind. It pulses and flashes briefly in the strengthening morning light before folding back up and the whole procedure starts over again.

Richard watches this with stunned fascination. _That flap! A blazing flag! It practically shouts 'Here I am, ladies! Come and get me!' I wish I had such a blazon. She couldn't fail to see me if I did!_ But then he sinks into reverie. _I don't want to advertise to ALL the ladies. Just the one. And I certainly don't want to attract the attention of other males in the vicinity. That leads to fights. Any of her blind dates could lay me out in a twinkling._

Now he pauses and ponders the unthinkable_… but would they? I'd be fighting for my future, not just a date. There is a happy home and domestic bliss and, perhaps, children on the line here. I would fight with every ounce of strength in my body and I wouldn't give up. I'd fight to the death._ This sobers him and he looks back to his little dancer with new respect. _Biology is an unthinking machine; relentless, remorseless, and uncaring. You either get with the program or you get out of the way. You either win or you lose._

In his heart, Richard knows he is about to enter the fray. He only hopes he survives.

Harry hasn't stopped his routine. His tiny gleaming eyes are focused on Richard most fixedly then they shift almost imperceptibly to a spot behind him before flicking back. His reptilian regard is steady and deadly serious. If anything, his pace picks up. Almost like something is coming to a head.

Richard leans forward in anticipation. _What on earth could happen next to top THIS performance? _Almost hypnotized by this never-before-seen display behaviour, he does not hear the soft rustle of bedding. Indeed, he does not realize he has company until the bed dips briefly beneath him, a smooth chin nestles onto his shoulder, and a sleepy amused voice whispers, "Morning. What's so interesting over here?"

Jet-lag, hangover, sore back, walks and plans; it all burns away in a white-out flash of incandescent shock in Richard's head.

Several things crash into clarity all at once; the feel of a warm Camille snugged up to his bare back, her sly kisses on his shoulder, visions of last night's party, the taste of exotic drinks, vague recollections of dancing, the feel of her arms around him, lots of laughter and snogging, urgent matters that needed resolution back at his place, the woozy mid-night drive, the mature Rioja brought out at last.

After that, everything got a little bit hazy and he doesn't have time to hunt for the memories because...

… only one thing remains crystal clear.

A warm Camille is snugged up to his bare back and her kisses are gaining urgency.

End – part 1


	28. Chapter 28

**this story just kept going so now it's a 3-parter**

Part 2 of 3

Taking a deep ragged breath, he tries to calm his stuttering mind and kick-start his seized heart. A myriad of thoughts race through his mind as his Ego tries to bend the situation into some sort of rational context. His Super Ego is aghast that he has a woman in his bed! His Id is equally aghast that he has a woman in his bloody bed - and he hasn't bloody well realized it until just bloody NOW!

The mental traffic jam is horrendous and his hangover isn't helping.

_OK_, he thinks, _one step at a time_. _She isn't screaming or beating me up so I can be fairly certain that this is a mutual decision. She also sounds perfectly at ease and the hand on my arm is a good clue too._ _She's still kissing me and I'd better wake up and respond before she takes umbrage. _He takes another breath, a little less shuddery this time, and tries to relax.

This had been his goal all along, after all. He just hadn't realized it was a done deal.

Finally, he sends up silent thanks to the powers-that-be because now he doesn't need a plan after all. Cancel the long walk on the beach. Cancel the stretches beneath the palm trees. He rather thinks he might be doing stretches in a completely new manner from now on. He hopes.

_OK, Poole, time to face the music. Try not to spoil everything. Put on a brave face and use your charm. _This last thought takes his Ego, Super Ego, and Id by total surprise and the strident voices in his head hush into stunned silence as he prepares to face his future.

Rolling carefully over to face her, he is instantly gratified to see how tousled and satisfied she looks and before he can say a word, she kisses him on the mouth, long and lingeringly. _OK, that's a good sign, _he thinks_. Her hands are still on me too, another good sign._

Before her touch can drop any lower, he forgets his own advice and says the first thing that comes into his head, "Did we really make love last night?" He regrets it before he's done saying it.

However, instead of going all French on him, she gives him a slow steamy look and nods, "And not just last night, mon étalon. Don't you remember?"

He bites his lip, thinks hard, but, no, he doesn't. He racks his whirling brains for some way to salvage his dignity, to keep her here, to make himself desirable, to maybe trick her into having sex with him again before she changes her mind. As usual, he draws a blank and his inner voices flare up. His Ego and Super Ego are arguing and his Id is screaming in frustrated anguish. He has no clue who will come out on top. If he waits for the voices to come to some sort of agreement, he very much doubts it will be him. He knows he can't wait for an internal consensus – he's on his own here.

He dekes a covert look to her. _No, I'm not alone. Not any more. Not if I'm careful. Careful and lucky. Lucky and careful. _ He pushes himself up onto one elbow but can't think of anything safe to say so he just looks at her, trusting that she will know EXACTLY what to say. And do.

At his guilty look, she sits up and gives him a very careful scrutiny. As he pulls the sheet up in response and his belated blush leaps into technicolour, she suddenly claps her hands like a prize-winner on a TV game show and squeals, "Oh! I can't believe it! I get to do it TWICE!" She begins running her hands over him, tugging on his sheet, laughing between kisses that she bestows upon him like the aforementioned spring rain.

He stiffens in shock. This isn't playing out like ANY-thing he'd imagined. _Now what?_ _What am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to do? She is storming my meager defenses and I can't seem to muster a single response! _His blush deepens because his Id has forged ahead with a very determined response without permission - and it's just adding to his confusion.

But his thoughts and her actions are interrupted by her startled look over his shoulder. Her eyes widen and he suddenly remembers what's going on behind him. He twists around and Harry is still at it… only now the tiny green creature is dividing his attention between the two humans and his pace increases. He is practically semaphoring with his frill. Any faster and he's liable to lift off into the rafters.

"What in the world is he doing?" she whispers.

OK, a question he can handle! "Dunno, he was doing it when I woke up." He rolls back to her, his blood starting to rush a bit now that he's had a few moments to process. He dares to run a hand down her arm, "No matter, let's forget about Harry for the moment. I'd much rather concentrate on what you were doing… what WE were doing. Tell me more about last night, will you?"

He tries to draw her nearer but she cocks her head and nods towards the little dancer, "I've seen this before somewhere, when I was a kid. Now, where was it? In the garden? At home? In town? When was it? In the spring? At night? Hmmm." She interrupts his rather modest attempt at a kiss with a question, "Where is your little book on the care and feeding of Anoles?"

He is so disconcerted that his Id temporarily loses the upper hand and he waves a hand over at his bookcase, "It's over there, second shelf, fourth from the left, but why do you…?"

His question dies on his lips. He can't believe it! She's bounced right over him and out of bed! What reflexes! What nimbleness! His Id jackboots itself back into control and now he's panting as she rummages around in his reference books. !Starkers! It improves his mood no end. Now he wants to discuss last night in the worst way!

End – part 2


	29. Chapter 29

Part 3 of 3

He holds out an imploring hand, his sheet slipping a-widdershins but he doesn't notice, "Camille! Leave the damn book! Please come back to bed!"

She waves a hand back at him, "Just a moment, I found it." She reads briefly then lays the book down with a puzzled look, "That is very odd." She stands perfectly limned by early light, staring off into space as if puzzling over something.

His Id is roaring hard enough to hurt. He can't help but grit out, "Camille, if you don't get back over here, I will be forced to take matters into my own hands."

She turns, notices his a-widdershined sheet, and leers, "Oh, don't do that, chéri! That's MY job!"

She launches herself spectacularly and bounces back onto the bed, taking the wind right out of his already admittedly depleted lungs. She packs a wallop for such a slight thing. Gasping, he holds her off until his breath comes back.

She laughs and struggles and finally wins her place back atop him, "Sorry! Sorry, I'm just so excited! All last night! And now I get to do it all over again! You really don't remember any of it? Really? I should be insulted… but I'm not."

At his frown, she snuggles down and proceeds to give him a blow by blow description of the party and subsequent events. He is sure she is making it up. She assures him she is not. She ticks things off on her fingers; the truck, the swing chair out on the veranda, his desk, the tree (_the TREE?!_), the bed twice. Maybe thrice, "It was difficult to keep track because I certainly wasn't taking notes," she sighs.

Vague memories of leather seats, swinging motion, smooth wood, rough bark, cool sheets and throbbing pleasure swim up in his mind's eye. It's a kaleidoscope of colour and motion and feelings but… he shakes his achy head, "It's all a blur! I'm so sorry! You have NO idea how sorry I am."

He scrubs at his brow in stymied effort, "Arrrrgh! I never forget anything! Never! So why can't I remember something so mind-boggling wonderful that I'm not sure I believe it at all?" He glances up at her in sudden fear, "Except, of course, here you are. And still are, more's the mystery. Don't think me rude or chauvinistic but… are you SURE it all happened as you say it happened?"

She gives him a look that scares and thrills him in equal measure despite never having seen such a look before. She trails a languid finger down his throat and onto his chest where it finds a spot to tarry, "Well, detective, since you have your doubts, there's nothing for it." At his frown she sinks onto him and purrs, "We'll just have to re-enact the entire crime to prove my story. I'm sure things will begin to come back to you at some point."

Then she rears up off him and laughs at the look on his face, "But we'll have to wait for darkness for the opening scenes! I'm not repeating THAT in daylight!"

As he pulls her down, he agrees, "No, certainly not, not if it's as awful as you say it was. By the way, where are our clothes?"

She smirks, "In the truck." At his wide-eyed look, she laughs again, "Oh, yes, my little streaker. There were two full moons on your beach last night but only one of them glowed like a silvery pearl."

He claps both hands over his eyes and groans, "Oh, god, I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

She kisses the backs of his fingers, "Nope, never. It will make a good story to tell our kids."

His hands flash down, "Camille! You are NEVER to tell…" then his voice falters before he can finish. Nevertheless, he's an English man and never say never! "Our kids? Do you mean it? Children? You want children with me?"

Her eyes melt into his and he suddenly has a simmering little blaze to fend off, NOT! He can tell the time for talk is over. She is making no bones about it! As she wraps him in exuberant embrace, Richard Poole, former bachelor, sinks without a trace, never to be seen again.

Sometimes 'never' can be said very firmly. Thank goodness.

Just before they settle down for the long hard slog of re-enactment, he remembers the book. He holds up a quelling hand that almost doesn't stop her but she bites her lip and subsides, "What did the book say about Harry?"

"Oh," she scoffs and gives a little head-bob of her own, "it's his mating dance." She begins swaying atop him, doing a little mating dance of her own, coming closer and closer to his face with every pass.

He watches this with fascination, not even wasting a moment of worry. He's WAY past that point in the proceeding. "HIS mating dance? Harry's mating dance? Well, who is he dancing for? Or to? There's no other lizard here."

They turn to look. Harry is now sitting quietly, watching them.

Camille shrugs, "Maybe he's dancing for us. Is that possible?"

Considering how this morning has gone so far, Richard can't help but shrug back, "I wouldn't put anything past the little bugger. Or this island. Excuse me." He leans towards his tiny green wingman and says softly, "Shoo, Harry. And this time, I mean it."

One last head-bob and Harry scuttles up the wall into the rafters.

Richard watches him go, "I just know we still have an audience." Turning back, he sighs, "Please, don't let it spoil the moment."

She draws him in, "Oh, I won't… not the moment, not the day, not the night, not the rest of our lives. Welcome home, Richard."

And, impossibly, there is sudden air, light, music, perfume, colour, laughter. A raging spring storm washes him away. He is healed, woke, and life foams forth where all had been barren and desolate. It feels wonderful! Wonderful and scary as hell! He doesn't have to fight to the death. He fights to live.

Biology may be an unthinking, relentless, uncaring, remorseless machine. But so is Love. Except for the uncaring part. Love cares a LOT. It cares without thought and can be just as remorseless and relentless; you either get with the program or you get out of the way. You either fight or you give up. You either win or you lose.

He doesn't want to get out of the way.

He doesn't have to fight.

He's already won.

The rest is gravy.

END


	30. Chapter 30

**S2 E8 – After the Rant**

Part 1 of 3

Everyone eyes the ranting man before them as if seeing him for the first time.

Every single one of them remembers seeing him for the first time, too. Has it really been two years since he washed up on their shores? It seems so long ago in one way yet a mere blip in time in another way. He has somehow come to mean so much to them yet he remains aloof and alone. His daily displays of perverseness and sheer unpredictability are part of their life now. True, he's been more laid-back of late but he is really out-doing himself right now in the 'Up-tight Department'!

The Commissioner stands serenely at Poole's side, eyes downcast and ears perked. _I've already heard most of this but there is an emotional tone to Poole's voice now that was lacking on the drive in from the airport. _ He smiles small and waits. _Did the trip to London make certain facts clearer to the man as I hoped?_ _If so, will Poole act upon those facts? If not, will he need a not-so-gentle nudge from me?_ He folds his hands and waits, patient as a cat. A cat with an agenda.

Everyone else leans back and watches Poole with interest.

Catherine smiles quietly to herself, amused by his outburst. _So ENGLISH. Still!_ She keeps a sly eye on her little girl too who, for some unfathomable reason, finds this man so fascinating. _Now that he is back after almost a week's absence, perhaps NOW something will happen? I will watch most carefully._

Fidel grins in mixed embarrassment and pride. _How like the Chief to blow his top as soon as he steps through the door. An ordinary person would whoop with relief to be back after such a long journey and time away. But not the Chief! Oh, no! He is exhausted and frustrated and angry… and so he will tell the whole world! He is still the Chief and he will proclaim it loud and clear. I'm glad he's home._ Then he leans to his side ever so minutely and side-whispers, "You owe me $10.00."

Dwayne rolls his eyes, slides the bill across the table, shakes his head, never taking his stare off his boss. _Sit down or go home, man_! _You need a good meal, a stiff drink, a solid night's sleep - and tomorrow you'll be right as rain - still stroppy - but a lot less shouty! I'm awful glad you're here but dial it back! Tell us ALL about it… tomorrow!_

Camille drinks him in with her eyes. She is so overcome with a hard surge of something welling in her souls that she doesn't see her mother's knowing glance. And even if she did, she doesn't care anymore. _THIS is the reason I'm still here on the island. THIS is the reason I've passed up several undercover offers. THIS man… right here… is the whole reason for everything. I was content to let things ease along between us… but that was before he left. His sudden absence shook me to my bones. Shook me hard enough to scare me. While he was gone, I learned two things, two very important things. _

She takes a deep fortifying breath. _I need him badly and I am finally ready to do something about it._

She smiles as she steps forward and studies his face. _He looks like a small child faced with an impossible task. Tying his shoe laces, for example. He is flushed and steamed and overwhelmed. How uncomfortable he must be! He is taking deep breaths and flexing his neck, his whole body stiff and probably sore from the long flight. Oh, Richard, let me comfort you!_

She slips a hand beneath his and takes the briefcase. His attention is suddenly snapped down to her as she raises her head just enough to whisper close to his ear, "I'm SO glad you're home. Now, let me take care of you." The look he gives her is inscrutable yet his fingers let go of the case.

She puts the case down into a vacant chair then a stilling hand onto his wrist as he begins to stir. Whatever he was going to say or do, he halts in sudden immobility. She looks to her mother, "Maman, can you please prepare a plate for the Inspector? I believe something has been simmering in the kitchen for a while now, if my nose doesn't lie?"

All the men's noses suddenly scent the air. _Ah, yes! Beef! And what's that second ambrosial smell?_ Salivary glands kick in. One path to a man's heart is indeed through his stomach. There are others.

Catherine nods, "Oui, Cami, beef stew with baby vegetables and home-made bread."

"Sounds wonderful! The Inspector and I will be back in 30 minutes. Let's all eat then, OK?"

Catherine smiles and goes off to the kitchen, a chef with a VERY eager audience.

Three of the four men look totally cheated and give Camille a mystified look but they get no help as she turns to the green pair and draws their owner out the door and onto the sidewalk. Two pairs of eyes watch this for a moment then turn to the final pair that are looking down at a hat in hand very contentedly. _So_, _no nudge needed. Camille is on the case and Richard is home for good._ These satisfied eyes glance up and see the question hanging in the air.

The Commissioner purses his lips and murmurs, "I believe developments are afoot. Please keep me abreast of developments, if you would be so kind? I must away." As he passes the table where Dwayne and Fidel are puzzling all this over, he adds, "Officers, please stay put and detain our Chief of Police if he returns before the allotted 30 minutes! Sit on him if you have to!" He processes majestically away, leaving his officers more puzzled than ever.

"Sit? Sit on the Chief? What do you think he means?" Dwayne blurts.

Fidel scratches his head, "I'm not sure. I wish Juliet was here, she could probably tell us."

Dwayne nods sagely, "Ah! Woman things. Gotcha." He takes a sip of beer and thinks it over. _The Chief gone for a week and Camille like a shark with a sore tooth, the station empty and echoing without the usual arguments and laughter, the Chief back and Camille acting like a woman on a mission. And Fidel thinks Juliet thinks something is going on? _ He nods again, "Oh, yeah, I think things could get interestin' real soon now."

Fidel raises an eyebrow, "More interesting than usual, you mean?"

"Oh, yeah, this could go a couple of different ways but ALL the ways will be interestin'. Why don't you give Juliet a call, tell her what just happened, and ask her opinion on the matter, hmm?"

Fidel gets onto his phone with his wife and there is a three-way interactive discussion that gets quite heated at times. Once the call is done, the men both sit back and drink their beers in contemplative silence, thinking their own thoughts and watching the door.

_Oh, yeah, this oughta be good!_

**End – part 1**


	31. Chapter 31

**Part 2 of 3**

Meanwhile

She draws him up the street to the 'Mom & Pop Everything-All-Under-One-Roof Store' that serves the town in emergencies. Like lost luggage. She is making a mental check-list of things he'll need to tide him over then remembers who she is dealing with. His list will be carved in stone somewhere inside his head. She drags him inside and they stand by the door. _He is unusually quiescent_, she thinks. _He must be REALLY tired to let me bully-rag him this way. Well, soonest begun soonest done._

"Now," she says brightly, "let's get everything you need for the next few days until your luggage shows up, if it ever does! And maybe THIS time you'll let me take you shopping for tropical-weight suits. Or perhaps you're ready to change your look a bit?" She gives him a fake once-over, hardly able to tear her eyes off him now that she's got him in her sights.

He stands quietly at her side, just looking at her. She gestures towards the laden every-day-use aisle, "Hey! You're supposed to be shopping for toothbrushes and socks and stuff… not studying me!"

He seems to struggle for a moment then mutters, "Maybe I LIKE studying you. Ever thought of that?"

She is startled. _He must be out of his mind with fatigue to make a slip like that!_ She grabs up a shopping basket, takes his arm and starts him down the nearest aisle, "OK, just point and I'll load up."

He smiles crookedly and mutters, "So bossy! How I missed you." He begins pointing and she tries very hard not to think about what he just said. _He obviously needs sleep and a LOT of it!_ Once the basket is full of toiletries, she leads him into the neighbouring clothing aisles where they spend a VERY enjoyable 10 minutes arguing over apparel. He finally settles for 2 pairs of dark grey slacks and white dress shirts… SHORT SLEEVE dress shirts! She is very proud of herself for convincing him to lighten up. He tosses in a package of grey socks and starts for the front of the store.

"Hey," she interjects, "what about ties?"

He turns, gives her a hooded look then smiles, "The one I'm wearing will do while I decide whether or not to continue wearing ties to work." Her gob-smacked look makes him chuff a quiet laugh. He turns away and she calls out again, more hesitantly this time.

"Um…"

He comes back to her, "Oh, what now?"

"What about underwear?" she mumbles.

His eyes flare and she feels suddenly very chagrined, "You forgot…"

"No, I didn't! I'm certainly not going to let you pick out something so private as that!"

"Fine! But you go back there right now and pick out something! I promise not to look." He snorts and vacillates but she gives him a firm shove in the right direction and he goes.

At the cash register, she firmly turns her back as his purchases are rung up but she keeps an eye on things via the anti-shoplifting mirror in the corner. _Mmmm, something black… or navy? How intriguing!_

They are back out on the street. Dusk is falling. The air is cooling and gathering that lovely night-time fragrance that whispers of secret dealings and quiet satisfaction. She loves this time of day. She sees him lifting his face to the deepening sky, sees him taking slow breaths, sees him settling.

"It's nice, isn't it?" she asks him, "The evening settling over the island; peaceful, beguiling, intimate."

"Yes," he breathes, "intimate. That's what I missed the most. Almost the most. This languid island air. Everything seems possible at such a time, doesn't it?"

They walk side by side. His arms are full of his purchases so she slips a hand around his forearm to hold him lightly. He starts minutely then ducks his head and accepts her touch. She waits a few seconds then settles her other hand onto his arm as well. Now she is tucked up against his side, almost bumping hips.

_Now's the time to say something_, she thinks. But she's afraid she'll say the wrong thing… or maybe the right thing but in the wrong way… or maybe the right thing but he won't pick up on it… or maybe… She gives him a panicked look. _La Kaz is coming into view. I have only moments to put my feet onto the right path that will lead me to his heart. What do I say? What do I do? Why didn't I write it all down?!_

A chilly mist seems to fall in front of her eyes. She's steps away from losing sole possession of him. _Once I have to share him with others, my best chance will be gone!_ _I have to say something right now! I have to…_

**Did you miss me? **

They both stop walking and turn to each other.

She looks up at him in surprise. He frowns down at her. They both look slightly taken aback and a bit expectant but neither of them speaks. Finally she whispers, "Did you say that? Or did I?"

"I don't know," he whispers back. "It seemed to come out of thin air." They peer about. The street is full of people enjoying the coming night but no one is close enough to have spoken so quietly. "Maybe we're hallucinating?" he offers, "I'm tired enough to fall asleep standing up but it sounded so close!"

She nods then takes her courage in both hands, "But it's a good question, isn't it? DID you miss me?"

His face shows the internal struggle he endures before the words come in a relieved rush, "Of course I missed you! I missed you when you shoved me into the taxi and waved goodbye. I missed you at the airport and on the flight to England. I missed at the airport and on the flight to Saint-Marie. And then there you were, right in front of me and… and… I couldn't think of a single thing to say! All I could do was rant like a numpty and wish I could shut up." He shakes his head sorrowfully, "I am SUCH a twit."

She squeezes his arm, "You're NOT a numpty, whatever that is. You're shy. There's a difference."

"Being shy or being a twit, it doesn't matter if I end up alone, does it?"

"You're NOT alone. I told you months ago, you have me. You've had me for a long time now and I… I think I'm ready to step up to the plate, if you'll have me." Before he could form any sort of reply she squeezes his arm again, "I missed you SO dreadfully."

She ducks her head and starts walking. He falls into step beside her. La Kaz is fast approaching. She halts just shy of the bright lights and faces him, "I have a confession to make. It's not something I'm proud of. Please don't get mad?"

"What?" he asks quietly. He has managed to shift both bags onto one arm and is slipping his free arm around her waist, feather-light but definitely a bit proprietary, "What could you have possibly done that you need to confess to me? You are absolutely perfect in every way."

She smiles at that but forges on, "Well, I fed Harry twice a day like you instructed…"

"Yes?"

"… and then I… oh! I lay down on your bed!" She covers her face with the hand that isn't busy holding him as close as she could in public. The street had eyes and ears everywhere and, for all she knew, someone was on the phone to her Maman right now! She wonders if Maman would believe them?

His eyebrows fly up and he is surprised into a laughing cough, "DID you now?' Much quieter, he adds, "How did it feel?"

End – part 2


	32. Chapter 32

Part 3 of 3

"Lumpy… you need a new mattress… and…"

"And?" he encourages her, holding his breath.

"… and lonesome! I did say I missed you dreadfully, didn't I?"

He smiles in relief now, his fatigue slipping away into the comfortable night air, "Um, yes, you did. But, Camille…" he tightens his hold on her, keeping her to the shadows, "… you DO realize there's a difference between missing a man in the office and missing a man in your bed, don't you?"

"Not my bed, YOUR bed," she mumbles, eyes downcast in sudden unaccustomed shyness.

"Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe," he intones as if this has great meaning. He grins down at her.

"What? What does that even mean?" she has to ask. His grin is doing things to her.

He stoops swiftly and brushes his lips across hers, there and gone again before she can taste him or catch him. She gasps as he straightens up. "It means I'm GLAD I was shipped off so suddenly! Glad to have my eyes opened. Glad to realize how much I didn't WANT to go. I was never so happy to bounce back onto the tarmac in that little pogo-stick of an aeroplane! I wanted to run all the way back to you. Then I saw you and I got all confused once more. I did mention I was a twit, didn't I?"

She smiles up at him, "Yes, you did. And maybe this time I will allow it. What? Couldn't you tell how unhappy I was when you left? You couldn't tell how happy I was to see you again? "

"Oh, I saw it, I just didn't know how to read it. I don't have your skill at Body English. Promise you'll never be parted from me again? Please stay with me, day and night, helping me to cope? This is what I realized while I was away; if I have you then I have everything I need."

It takes her a moment to click her jaw shut before she can stammer, "Of course, Rich… um, may I call you Richard now? And how do we make this work? How do we present ourselves to the world?"

He sighs, "Um, this is the minefield I worry so much about. Professional relationships can be killers. Should you call me 'Sir' at work? Would you be comfortable with that? I'm absolutely no good at negotiating personal issues like this. I depend upon you to guide me but sooner or later I'm going to step on a landmine and anger you. I fear it more than anything."

"DO you? Well, until we understand each other better, let's promise to give each other the benefit of the doubt. I'll check with you and you check with me on whether or not we REALLY meant to say whatever we just said. OK? We're so different that we're bound to find all those landmines you worry about." She strokes his cheek, "Let's promise to be kind to one another, OK?"

He smiles, "OK. I don't mean to be stroppy and pig-headed and insulting. Keep that in mind, will you?"

She smiles, "I will. As for me, remember, I'm French. Sometimes I simply can't help myself."

Very low, he murmurs, "Oh, I know. I'm rather counting on that."

She blinks, "Um, OK, and as for non-verbal communication, let's keep that VERY low-key otherwise…"

"Yes!" he nods firmly, "Otherwise I might be tempted to snog you in public and my head will roll down the street as a result. Let's not tempt fate, hmm?" He checks his watch, "30 minutes, time to go in."

"OK… but only if you promise to show me what a 'snog' is. At your earliest convenience, of course."

He had started to enter the doorway but whirls around to pin her with a gleaming eye. After a moment or two he nods again, "Oh, indeed. One snogging lesson coming right up. Could happen right here, if we happen to find ourselves temporarily out of sight, perhaps in the back hallway leading to the storeroom? In, say, 10 minutes?"

They both check their watches… and smile to see the other doing it too.

"You're on!" she laughs. "Now, let's go back inside so everyone can welcome you back in the manner you deserve! Maman has been fretting over this stew for days now. No matter how it tastes, tell her it is delicious!"

"No worries there. I will endure anything, eat anything, say anything in order to get home and let you welcome me back in the manner I am truly gagging for."

"In-SPEC-tor Poole…" she murmurs low and slow, the French showing itself, "I think this trip has undone your mind. I did NOT offer to welcome you back in any way whatsoever."

He leans in to whisper against her temple, "No, but you test-drove my bed and I'm curious to find out if it's a two-seater or not. Maybe it will be softer with you in it. It's sure to be much cozier."

Her eyes are whirling when he stands back up to look at her. She nods absently, "Hmm, I predict we are buying you a new mattress VERY soon now."

They take synchronized slow breaths and prepare to rejoin the party they can hear revving up inside. The heavenly odors of beef stew and fresh bread are drawing him like a siren call. He tucks a stray strand of her hair behind her ear and she leans her cheek into his palm, her eyelids fluttering closed.

He stills, marveling at how such a simple gesture almost breaks his control. If it weren't for his roaring empty stomach, their waiting friends and family, and the social demands on both of them, he'd be raging to answer THIS siren's call! But he consoles himself with the knowledge of the upcoming snogging lesson in 10 minutes… and whatever awaits him after that.

Back at his place. On his beach of dreams.

He's traveled so far, endured so much, only to end up right back where he started. Yes, he began this journey in fear and anger and loss and loneliness but that is all over now. He's back at the beginning again but this is a NEW beginning. And he can't wait to take that first step.

Just before their friends see them, he mutters to her, "Know any all-night furniture stores?"

END

**Well, I knew this day would come but I didn't expect it to hurt so much. This is the final story from my 2018/2019 winter viewings of S1 and S2. But. The support of loyal readers plus the advice of one in particular (thanks so much, ffh) coaxed me to watch beyond' The Horror' (but not 'The Horror' itself, you understand) and that sage suggestion (plus my annual winter visit to S1 and S2) has spawned new ideas.

The next collection will be 'After Season 2: He Goes On' which picks up the very next day after S2 E8.

I am leaving 'Books and Film series: short story collection' and 'SO English!' open because hope springs eternal and you just never know, you know? 'Sometimes there's more to Life than Life,' to quote a beloved source. (Fidel Best, S1E3, if you don't already know.)

Here's hoping 2020 is as much fun as 2018 and 2019 have been. Please try to leave the occasional comment. It's the only guidance I get on whether or not my stories are even close to the mark. Otherwise, I might wander off the path and into the moors. S/P**


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